A Silver Splintered River
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Bellatrix receives a very peculiar gift for her twenty-first birthday - the kind that transports her, along with Lord Voldemort, to 1920s Paris. In the midst of Grindelwald's ascent and while trying to unravel the mystery of the cursed "gift," Voldemort becomes more than Bellatrix's lord and master. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

September 1972

Number 12, Grimmauld Place

"Oh. A leather holster for my wand… lovely. Thank you, Father." Bellatrix gave a little smile up to Cygnus Black III, who beamed down at his daughter. She did so dislike birthday parties, but the Dark Lord himself had told her that it was important these days to occasionally gather followers together in a positive atmosphere.

So Bellatrix had submitted to the little party, and now she sat at a long dining-table with the Dark Lord himself at the head. She was beside him, having earned the place of honour over the last five years through undying loyalty and diligent, ruthless service. Her sister and mother had come, as well as Rodolphus Lestrange, the former Hogwarts classmate she was slated to marry in less than a month. Her Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga, as well as their sons Sirius and Regulus, were hosting.

Lord Voldemort had already made Bellatrix, her father, her sister, and her Uncle Orion Death Eaters, and he was soon to do the same with Rodolphus. But as Bellatrix opened her gifts, the Dark Lord sat with his hands folded on the table, staring carefully at her cousin Sirius. Bellatrix tried not to look alarmed as she reached for the next gift, a handmade rain cloak from her sister.

"Thanks, Cissy," Bellatrix said self-consciously. The next box was wrapped in dark green paper with shimmering silver ribbon, and Bellatrix smirked at her Aunt Walburga. "Excellent choice of Slytherin colours."

She tore the paper from the box and pulled the lid off. She marveled at the stunning bracelet inside, a silver cuff that glittered almost obnoxiously with diamonds. Bellatrix furrowed her brow, and when she looked up to her Uncle Orion, she shook her head and insisted,

"This is entirely too much, Uncle!"

Orion Black flushed a deep scarlet, his eyes flicking between his sons as he stammered, "W-well… you're family, Bellatrix; we wanted -"

"Bellatrix, no!" Voldemort snatched Bellatrix by the wrist just as she reached to pull the bracelet from the box. His fingers were still wrapped around her in the instant that she touched the bracelet. Suddenly everything was blinding white, and the deafening roar of a powerful wind surround Bellatrix. She shrieked, releasing the bracelet and wondering what the blazes had happened. She felt dizzy and sick and shut her eyes.

Then it was like she'd been thrown like a rag doll onto the ground. Her knees crashed hard against the floor, and her hands smacked so hard that she wondered for a moment if her wrists had broken. Bellatrix opened her eyes, expecting to find herself still in the dining-room at Grimmauld Place.

Instead, she found herself in a completely alien space. It appeared to be the parlour of an apartment, and as Bellatrix pulled herself off the carpeted floor, she studied the cream-coloured walls at the bright, sunny window. She frowned; it had been past dark at Grimmauld Place. She watched as Voldemort strode briskly to the window and pulled aside the white lace curtains. His jaw squared and he beckoned Bellatrix to the window with one hand.

She walked to him, her knees aching from the impact of landing on the ground. She stood beside him and looked outside, gasping when she saw the Eiffel Tower. Despite its being built by Muggles, Bellatrix knew the landmark well from childhood visits to France. She flicked her eyes to Voldemort and asked,

"Was it cursed, My Lord? Was it… some sort of Portkey?"

"More than that," he said gravely, gesturing down to the boulevard before them. "Those Muggle automobiles are positively ancient. The clothing they're wearing on the sidewalks… we've been thrown into the 1920s."

Bellatrix felt sick again. Time travel was more than possible, she knew, but it was heavily regulated for a reason, and going too far back in time was known to be catastrophically perilous. How could it possibly be that she and her master had been hurled so far through time and space? She shut her eyes and remembered the ominous look in Voldemort's eye, the way he'd grabbed her wrist and yelled in alarm. She remembered the surprise on her Uncle Orion's face upon seeing the elaborate, expensive bracelet in the box.

"Sirius," Bellatrix said, looking up at Voldemort. "My cousin Sirius. He's friends with blood traitors. This is some sort of trap he's laid; I just know it, My Lord."

He ignored her and started searching the apartment. He picked up a skeleton key lying on a low table and tucked it into his pocket. He walked quickly through the elaborate bedroom, into and back out of the bathroom, and through the kitchen and dining space. He came back to stand before Bellatrix and shook his head.

"The bracelet's gone," he mused. "I admit I have no immediate manner of getting us that many years forward in time. I can't be certain of what exactly that bracelet was. I saw it in your cousin's head, but I didn't want to be too obvious with the Legilimency. Just before you touched it, a feeling of dread came over me."

Bellatrix let out a shaking sigh and looked out the window toward the Eiffel Tower. "My Lord… perhaps my knowledge of wizarding history is a bit shaky, but… if we're on the Continent in the 1920s, doesn't that mean that Grindelwald is building his army?"

Voldemort nodded solemnly, pulling the key from his pocket and turning it over in his fingers a few times. He shook his head and seemed to be thinking aloud.

"Dumbledore might've done this. He would send me to the height of Grindelwald's power with the idea of us destroying one another."

He shoved the key back into his pocket and straightened his back. He gestured at Bellatrix's flowing, peasant-style black dress and her long hair, and he said rather sharply,

"We need more information, and you can't go out looking like that. It's suspicious."

Bellatrix glanced down at herself and asked quietly, "Are you very familiar with wizarding establishments in Paris, My Lord?"

"Familiar enough," he nodded, "and a good many of them have been around for long enough that they should still… already… be here. In any case, your hair needs to be cut short and you'll need a different outfit."

He sounded a little awkward saying that, but Bellatrix just nodded. She gulped hard, still trying to process what exactly had happened. She walked on sore legs to the bedroom, wondering whether someone else lived in this apartment. Perhaps that was what the key was for, she thought. Someone had planted them here. That was for certain. She stood in front of the gaudy gilded mirror and pulled her wand out with trembling fingers.

"Diffindo," she said, carefully pulling her wand around her head at chin level. Her lush hair fell away, leaving a curly bob. Bellatrix Vanished the pile of hair on the ground and then started murmuring spells to alter her dress. She made it knee length, lowered the waist, severed the sleeves, Transfigured it into silk, Conjured beading, and made her flat shoes into heels. She turned round to face the Dark Lord, who stood in the doorway of the bedroom, and asked carefully,

"Will this do, My Lord?"

He nodded once. He'd Transfigured his own outer robe into a black suit jacket that could certainly pass for Muggle. Bellatrix couldn't help thinking, in spite of everything, how strange and vaguely magnificent it was to be in Paris with him, with her lord and master, in an era long before her own birth. She gulped hard as she mumbled,

"I'm so sorry, My Lord. My silly birthday… if I hadn't been opening gifts… oh, Master. I'm sorry."

He seemed to sense the way she was a bit overwhelmed, and he took a step into the bedroom as he assured her,

"It'll be sorted quickly, Bella. I shall unearth what exactly that bracelet was, and we'll figure a way back to the time and place from which we were thrown."

As he spoke, his stern voice grew a little less certain, and finally he frowned and dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. Bellatrix said nothing. She added a pocket to her dress and tucked her wand away, and she wondered aloud,

"Have we any money, My Lord?"

He rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a Galleon. He flicked the Galleon with his thumbnail and caught it, and he said,

"British Galleons have been accepted in France for a very long time, and this one's worth even more here than it was… you know. At home. And I have many."

He put the Galleon away, and Bellatrix wondered whether perhaps he'd used an Invisible Extension Charm in his pocket. As usual, he'd amazed her with her power and with his inimitable calm. She marveled at him for a moment, unable to help observing how handsome he looked in his suit jacket. He sniffed lightly and said,

"According to the clock in the parlour, it's five in the evening. There is a wizarding cabaret that I do believe opened well before the 1920s… La Plume d'Argent. It should be opening in the next few minutes. Come here and I shall take you there by Side-Along."

Bellatrix stepped up to him and nervously put her hand on his forearm. She'd never really touched him, though more than once she'd wanted nothing more than to do so. She raised her eyes to him, and he murmured,

"Hold tightly."

She squeezed a little on his jacket sleeve, and suddenly the two of them were whirling and pinching through a black void. When they landed, they were in the narrow space between two buildings. Bellatrix peered out and saw the Arc de Triomphe. She knew this place. This was the Champs-Élysées. She'd come here as a child, but it was so long ago that she could barely remember now. As she studied their surroundings, the Dark Lord put his hand on Bellatrix's elbow. He was so close that Bellatrix snapped her face up to him; he stood over her and spoke in a low, furtive tone.

"You're not to call me My Lord or Master. No one here knows who I am, and for now it needs to stay that way. Your name is Lilith. I am your husband, Edmund Black. We are on holiday from England. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix felt her heart race, but she nodded and repeated in a hoarse voice, "My name is Lilith Black, and you are my husband, Edmund. We're on holiday from England. I understand, My Lord."

He gave her a sharp glare, and she shook her head quickly. "Sorry."

Voldemort took Bellatrix's hand in his then, making her shiver from the feel of his fingers around hers. He pulled out his wand and started to walk further back in the narrow opening between the buildings. Bellatrix was confused, for he was walking right at another street. But they hit a point between the buildings where a little rush of air and a small vibration came over then. The interior of a raucous cabaret materialized before them, replacing the outdoor space. Bellatrix was beginning to think nothing was real anymore, that all she would ever do would be to teleport and time travel until she keeled over dead. But then the Dark Lord squeezed her hand a bit and gave her a very serious look.

"Welcome, Lilith," he said very meaningfully, "To La Plume d'Argent."

* * *

June 1924

Paris, France

Lord Voldemort pretended to pay attention to the witch on stage, the way she showered herself in silvery sparks as she made seductive swaying motions. She was beautiful, probably, but Voldemort couldn't have cared less if he tried. He was thinking of the damned bracelet that had sent them here. He was trying to think of a way to get back; he couldn't come up with anything realistic. He knew Dumbledore was behind this. It had to be so. Voldemort flicked his eyes toward Bellatrix and watched as she read the witches' magazine that they'd found lying on a table.

The issue of Événements Magiques, which Bellatrix had translated with a spell, had revealed to them that it was June of 1924. Bellatrix had been nervously reading it for fifteen minutes now, during which time Voldemort had downed nearly an entire goblet of French elf-made wine. He drummed his fingers on the table, tired of waiting, and said over the music,

"Well?"

Bellatrix scooted her chair closer and pretended to watch the dancing on the stage as she said very quietly, "My Lo… I mean, Edmund… it only mentions Grindelwald once. Says that seven girls failed to show up for the school term at Beauxbatons and are believed to have joined Grindelwald's army of so-called 'radicals.' The rest of the magazine discusses fashion, how to not get run over by Muggle automobiles… there's an advertisement for a robe shop hidden here on the Champs-Élysées."

"Take note of that shop," Voldemort murmured. "You'll be needing a small wardrobe if it's to take any demonstrable amount of time to get out of here."

He started glancing around the cabaret at the diverse crowd of faces. Keeping his gaze surreptitiously oblique, he poked into one mind after another with Legilimency. People flinched a little at the strange sensation of him in their minds, but the performance kept most everyone engaged enough to ignore the intrusions.

A fixation with a husband's infidelity. Worries over a child with dragon pox. Recollections of sex and arguments, of shopping and holidaymaking. And then, finally, Voldemort stumbled upon a memory that was very interesting indeed. His eyes locked on the middle-aged wizard in whose mind he was lodged just now. He could see Gellert Grindelwald, with his icy blond hair and his menacing voice, speaking to a room full of adherents. Jules Bayard. The memory belonged to a man called Jules Bayard.

"Stay here," Voldemort ordered Bellatrix, and she resisted the urge to call him My Lord. She just nodded silently and watched her master as he rose from the table and climbed a few shallow stairs to the mezzanine level. He approached the table where the grey-haired wizard sat, and he bowed his head politely. "Excusez-moi, monsieur. Parlez vous anglais?"

The wizard looked a little suspicious but nodded. "Yes. I speak English. Can I help you?"

Voldemort licked his bottom lip, gestured to the chair opposite the wizard, and asked in a tone smooth as silk, "May I sit?"

"You may." The other wizard raised his eyebrows expectantly. Once Voldemort had sat down, he nodded and said politely,

"Monsieur Bayard, my name is Edmund Black. I'm on holiday from Britain with my wife. And I wonder if you might be so good as to introduce me to Gellert Grindelwald."

The other wizard's hand moved very quickly to the inside of his jacket, toward his wand, and he looked around frantically to see if anyone had heard. Voldemort shook his head and said almost gently,

"I am not from any Ministry, French or otherwise."

"How do you know my name?" asked Jules Bayard brusquely, and Voldemort stayed calm as ever as he declared quietly,

"I am a Legilimens. A skill I hope to put to use for Grindelwald. My wife and I came from England to join his army; making contact is proving more difficult than anticipated."

Jules Bayard narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his jacket. "This wife of yours. Where is she?"

Voldemort gestured down to the table in the front, where he could see Bellatrix's fingers knitting anxiously on the table. From up here, from this side view, she looked very pretty indeed, Voldemort thought. Short hair suited her.

"She's young," Bayard noted. "You sure she's your wife?"

"She's old enough," Voldemort said slickly. "Now. Monsieur Bayard. What needs to happen now to get me into the movement?"

"How can you prove you're not from any Ministry?" Bayard demanded, and Voldemort admitted,

"I can't. But you see that witch down there? The pretty, young one. Her name is Lilith. I trust her with my life, and I confess to being something of a narcissist. Beyond that, I place rather a high value on her life. You will find us both in the Place du Trocadéro tomorrow at noon."

Bayard nodded. "I will speak with my superiors before then. The Place du Trocadéro. Tomorrow at noon. I'll have word of some kind for you then. And what do I get in return?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Name your price."

Bayard rapped his knuckles on the table a few times and finally smirked a little. "I'll hold the debt. I may need something of you later; who knows? Until tomorrow… Monsieur Black."

Voldemort rose and buttoned his jacket. He nodded once and recited Grindelwald's motto. "For the greater good."

* * *

Back in the mysterious apartment - which they had determined was located on the rue Fresnel - Bellatrix used Marseilles soap to scrub herself raw in the claw foot tub. She ran her fingers through her oddly short hair and stared in the mirror for a moment. She was still in shock, a little, at the idea of having been rocketed through time and space. But the time for awe was gone. She had to help her lord and master get back to the time in which he was powerful, in which he was a rising star in an otherwise empty sky.

Bellatrix gulped hard and aimed her wand at the black dress she'd hung on the door. She murmured a few spells to take the beading off. With a few alterations, it looked enough like a nightgown, and Bellatrix yanked it on roughly. She walked out of the bathroom and found the Dark Lord standing in the parlour, halfway through the act of Transfiguring the divan into a bed. He looked up at Bellatrix when she entered the room, and his throat bobbed visibly. Bellatrix hoped that she didn't look indecent, that she didn't come across as a cloying whore.

"You look fine," Voldemort mumbled, and Bellatrix jolted at the unnoticed intrusion. She gathered herself enough to say,

"My Lord, it's kind of you to Transfigure a bed for me, but it is not at all necessary. I can sleep on the divan as it is, or on the floor. Hopefully, we won't be here long, anyway."

Voldemort frowned. "This isn't for you. You'll sleep in the bedroom. Engorgio."

He turned his attention back to his half-finished bed. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at the tall, poufy bed in the bedroom, and she shook her head as she turned back.

"My Lord, I couldn't possibly -"

"Don't do that, Bella. Don't make a show of protesting a damned bed. You'll sleep in there; I'll sleep out here. I did not ask for debate."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix lowered her head, sighed and said quietly, "Goodnight, My Lord."

He didn't answer her, but she didn't need him to. Hours passed in silence, and she stared at the plaster decorations on the walls. As she tossed and turned in the too-soft bed, Bellatrix wondered whether her family had simply seen her disappear from the dining table with the Dark Lord. She wondered what was happening now among the Death Eaters, among the Dark Lord's enemies. In any case, she knew, it did little good to perseverate now on an time they couldn't even access. After a long while, she heard the church bells nearby chime midnight with a single stroke. If she didn't get sleep soon, she knew, she'd be no good to the Dark Lord the next day.

Fed up and frustrated, she considered pointing her wand at her own head and casting a Somnus Spell on herself. But it was more than a little risky; she'd heard stories of people putting themselves into comas that way. She pulled herself out of the bed and stalked to the doorway that led to the parlour. She could see him - her powerful master - lying on his back with his hands behind his head. She couldn't tell if he was asleep, so she asked quietly,

"My Lord?"

"Hmm." His voice was a low drone, and Bellatrix still couldn't tell whether she'd woken him. She shifted her weight on her feet and thought perhaps it had been a bad idea to come out here.

"What is it, Bella?" asked Voldemort in a deep growl. Bellatrix cleared her throat and admitted,

"I am having immense difficulty sleeping, My Lord. I want to ensure that I am clear-headed tomorrow when we meet with Jules Bayard. I have no potions with me, and…"

"And you're nervous about casting a Somnus Spell on your own mind. You'd like me to put you to sleep. Is that it?" He sat up, and Bellatrix felt her eyes go round as saucers when she realised he had no shirt on. He was lean but muscular, and Bellatrix averted her eyes to stop herself staring.

Handsome, she couldn't help thinking, knowing he could probably feel the want radiating off of her. He's so handsome, and powerful, and -

"Bellatrix." He'd risen to stand now, and he gestured into the bedroom impatiently. "Go lie down, then, and I'll put you to sleep."

Bellatrix obeyed, her breath shaking between her teeth as she did. She slithered back under the thick blankets and shut her eyes, thinking that she would look an utter fool if she ogled her shirtless master as he loomed over her. She felt the tip of his wand touch her temple, and then he murmured,

"Sweet dreams, Bella. Somnus."

* * *

Lord Voldemort couldn't help himself from staring a little as Bellatrix arranged her bobbed curls before the mirror in the bedroom. She'd just come back from the robe shop, where she'd obtained enough clothing to make it through the days, evenings, and nights until they found their way back to their own time. She stood now in an elegant dress of crushed velvet, midnight blue, with dark lipstick on. She was rather pretty, Voldemort thought again. He'd noticed it before, but only really in passing. Now he took a moment to study her, the way her petite frame moved as she tucked a few curls behind her ear and turned round.

"Ready, My Lord?" she asked him, and he nodded once. They were to meet Jules Bayard in a half hour, but he'd wanted to arrive early just in case. The two of them walked down the three flights of stairs from their apartment building, and once again Voldemort tried to think of how much planning had gone into planting them here. He needed to play mental chess now; he needed to get a step ahead of whomever had cursed them here. He stared up at the building from the outside for a moment and whispered,

"Dumbledore."

"You think it must've been him, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded.

"I can think of no one else with the ability to send two people back fifty years, move them through space, and and deposit them in an uninhabited apartment." He sighed and met Bellatrix's eyes, and she said firmly,

"Albus Dumbledore may have the ability to banish two people, My Lord, but I've every confidence that you'll undo his madness. You're not the type to be put in time out like some sort of child. I know you'll make him pay."

"Your loyalty is endearing, Bella," Voldemort said, stroking at her jaw in a way he'd never done before. Her cheeks flushed, and he realised she was the only actual disciple he had here. In theory, he could go to England and track down Albus Dumbledore and kill him here in the 1920s, but that might have untold consequences. Besides which, even if he did kill Dumbledore, he had no Death Eaters in the time and place. He only had Bellatrix. He sniffed lightly, pulled his hand from her soft cheek, and said in a stern voice, "Let's go."

They walked down the rue Fresnel and through the gardens until they reached the Place du Trocadéro. Voldemort walked quickly to the centre of the plaza and found a bench near some flower beds. He sat, and Bellatrix silently joined him. She kept so much distance between them that he reminded her,

"We're meant to be married, remember?"

"Oh. Yes. Apologies, My Lord." She slid a bit closer, and Voldemort decided against chiding her. Instead he watched Muggles coming and going and contemplated how very mundane their lives must be. In an age before Muggle conveniences like films with sound, and lacking in magic, they had so very little with which to entertain or advance themselves. Voldemort quickly grew bored of watching the Muggles, and instead he flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form. "You look rather elegant in your new dress, Lilith."

The corners of her lips turned up a little, but she kept her eyes ahead on the passing Muggles. Finally she murmured, "Thank you."

Nearby church bells tolled noon, and Voldemort glanced around. Finally he saw him - Jules Bayard - walking straight toward the bench from across the chestnut-lined cemetery nearby. Voldemort rose from the bench and straightened his suit jacket, and Bellatrix flew up to stand beside him. When Bayard stepped up to them, he took Bellatrix's hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"Madame Black," he said carefully, lowering Bellatrix's hand and turning his attention to Voldemort. He spoke quickly and quietly then as he said, "Gellert Grindelwald was elated to hear of a Legilimens with interest in joining his cause. Since he is so skilled in Legilimency himself, he bears the practise great fondness and wishes to meet with you when he comes to France next week."

Bayard's pale eyes were stony, and suddenly Voldemort understood. He didn't even need to look into the man's eyes to understand. Bayard didn't believe Voldemort's lie about being a British holidaymaker, and he'd passed his suspicions on to Gellert Grindelwald himself. What none of them knew was that Voldemort's Legilimency skills were surpassed only by his incredibly powerful Occlumency abilities. Voldemort kept his own face even more steady than Bayard's and nodded.

"How will we know when and where to meet him?"

"An owl will find you the day before with a time and location," said Jules Bayard. He bowed his head respectfully to Bellatrix and then to Voldemort, and he said crisply, "Good day."

He walked away just as abruptly as he'd come. Bellatrix waited until he was out of earshot, and then she raised her face to Voldemort's.

"Grindelwald will see straight into my mind and find out the truth about us," she worried aloud. Voldemort had thought of that already, of course. He shrugged and said down to Bellatrix,

"You shall simply need to become a very good Occlumens in a very short period of time." He glanced around at the cafés lining the Trocadéro, and he suggested lightly, "How about lunch, then?"

* * *

Bellatrix shut her eyes and sighed heavily. She dragged hot water from the bath tub up and over her face. She was utterly exhausted, more so than she'd ever been, after hours of Occlumency practise. The Dark Lord had hurtled into her mind over and over again, pulling out all sorts of memories and barking at Bellatrix to replace them with other ideas. When she'd started to grow tired and her newly-developed defences had crumbled, he'd threatened to simply Obliviate her. Bellatrix had grown more determined then, finally thrusting forward a fake 'memory' of dancing with Voldemort at a cabaret in London. He'd seemed satisfied then, as though she'd made enough progress for one afternoon.

Bellatrix had been too shaky and tired to eat much when he'd brought up food from a nearby boulangerie. He'd commanded her to go clean herself up and have an early night with plenty of rest so they could practise again in the morning. Bellatrix knew time was an issue; they had somewhere near a week to get her mind strong enough to withstand the prying examination of Gellert Grindelwald. That was rather a terrifying thought, but it also made Bellatrix more determined than ever.

Voldemort had seen in her mind the conversations she'd had with Narcissa, the ones where she'd confessed that she adored the Dark Lord with every ounce of her being. Narcissa had always reminded Bellatrix that she was to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, and that those sorts of feelings should be reserved for her husband. But Bellatrix couldn't help herself then and she couldn't help herself now. The way his eyes had pierced hers during the Occlumency tutoring hadn't helped, and now as Bellatrix sat in the bathtub, she felt herself come alive a little for him.

She would die for him, of course. She would throw herself straight in front of a Killing Curse for him, or she'd get herself killed in battle. She had no qualms or hesitation about killing for him. She would do anything for him. She could barely be bothered to rid her mother's garden of gnomes when asked, but she would gladly starve to death or kill a thousand innocents if it was for Lord Voldemort. She'd loved him with all her being for years, and now she was alone with him in an apartment. That sent all kinds of insane fantasies flurrying inside Bellatrix's mind, and she hurried to drain the bath and step out.

She needed to get ahold of herself, she thought. They were here because of a curse. They would be meeting with Grindelwald next week. They were holding up shoddy alibis. Everything was chaos now, and she needed more than ever to be a steady and reliable soldier for her master. She pulled on the rose-coloured chiffon nightgown she'd purchased, only then realising just how diaphanous and suggestive it was. She grimaced a bit and hurried from the bathroom, racing to open her wardrobe and pull out the velvet robe she'd bought.

But it was too late; Voldemort had appeared in the threshold to the bedroom and was leaning on the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over his white shirt, on which he'd undone the top three buttons, and he licked his bottom lip. Bellatrix froze where she stood, knowing her nightgown was scandalously translucent. She tried not to look embarrassed but felt her cheeks flush hot. Something in the Dark Lord's face shifted; his jaw squared and his lips went into a straight line as though he'd very firmly decided something in his head.

"We need more detailed memories," he told her. "Things to put forward if anyone invades your mind and looks for the truth."

"Detailed memories," Bellatrix nodded. "If you tell me what to imagine, My Lord, I shall try to -"

"No." He shook his head and insisted, "They must be real. At least some of them. I'm a Legilimens myself, Lilith; I can always tell when something's made up."

"Oh." She nodded and suddenly understood. Over the next several days, they would have to do things as Lilith and Edmund, things that she could cement in her mind and allow Grindelwald to see when the time came. She gulped and asked him, "What sort of memories shall we make, then?"

He chewed his lip for a moment and then stepped into the bedroom. She shut the doors to the wardrobe, giving up on the idea of modesty as he loomed over her. He took her face in his hands and pulled his thumbs under her eyes. That feeling sent a shiver up Bellatrix's spine and made her knees weak. She studied his dark eyes, his sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and she whispered something that she hoped wouldn't earn her punishment.

"You're my husband."

"So I am," he nodded. "There are things that husbands do to their wives, aren't there?"

Bellatrix felt very dizzy, but she nodded. She'd never done more than kiss a few boys at Hogwarts, and no one had ever made her feel the way Voldemort was doing now. When she managed to meet his eyes again, he said in a steady tone,

"I love you, Lilith. I have since the day we met."

Bellatrix opened her mouth with surprise, but before she could say anything, he'd lowered his face. His lips pressed against hers, very gently at first and then more insistently. Bellatrix moaned like a whore against him, shocked and delighted by the taste and feel of him. She reached for his shirt and pressed her palms to his chest, adoring the planes and warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. His own hands went from her cheeks to her shoulders, and he pulled her a little closer as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly his tongue was dragging along her bottom lip. When she whimpered, he pushed his tongue inside and pulled it along the roof of her mouth. Bellatrix felt her fingers cinch on his shirt; it was all so intense that she could barely stand up.

This was Lord Voldemort. This was her lord and master, her -

No. This was Edmund Black, her husband. They were here on holiday from Britain. She soaked in the feel of Edmund's lips, of his tongue. She breathed in the scent of her husband and luxuriated in the taste of him. When at last he pulled his mouth away, she whispered into the air,

"I love you too, Edmund."

He let a very long moment pass, his chest heaving a little. He dragged the back of his wrist over his lips, sniffed a little, and cleared his throat.

"That will do for tonight, Bella," he said. "I should think… I suspect that will be powerful enough to overwhelm many thoughts he might try and pull from you."

Bellatrix nodded, feeling her eyes sear. "I think you're right, My Lord."

He seemed almost flustered then, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and looking away from Bellatrix. She knew her nipples were firm and that he could probably see them through her thin nightgown. She knew she was probably pulsing with want, for she was warm and wet between her legs and lightheaded from the kiss. She crossed her arms over herself and vowed,

"I shall work ten times harder tomorrow, My Lord, on the Occlumency skills. I will not fail you."

"You haven't failed me yet, Bella," he said, still staring at the wall. "Go to bed. Get some sleep. We begin early in the morning."

He turned and walked from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him as he went. Bellatrix somehow managed to stagger to the bed, to drag herself beneath the blankets and shut her eyes. Tonight, owing to her exhaustion, she had no trouble at all falling asleep. And when she dreamed, it was of Edmund kissing Lilith.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Voldemort couldn't help himself from staring a little as Bellatrix arranged her bobbed curls before the mirror in the bedroom. She'd just come back from the robe shop, where she'd obtained enough clothing to make it through the days, evenings, and nights until they found their way back to their own time. She stood now in an elegant dress of crushed velvet, midnight blue, with dark lipstick on. She was rather pretty, Voldemort thought again. He'd noticed it before, but only really in passing. Now he took a moment to study her, the way her petite frame moved as she tucked a few curls behind her ear and turned round.

"Ready, My Lord?" she asked him, and he nodded once. They were to meet Jules Bayard in a half hour, but he'd wanted to arrive early just in case. The two of them walked down the three flights of stairs from their apartment building, and once again Voldemort tried to think of how much planning had gone into planting them here. He needed to play mental chess now; he needed to get a step ahead of whomever had cursed them here. He stared up at the building from the outside for a moment and whispered,

"Dumbledore."

"You think it must've been him, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, and he nodded.

"I can think of no one else with the ability to send two people back fifty years, move them through space, and and deposit them in an uninhabited apartment." He sighed and met Bellatrix's eyes, and she said firmly,

"Albus Dumbledore may have the ability to banish two people, My Lord, but I've every confidence that you'll undo his madness. You're not the type to be put in time out like some sort of child. I know you'll make him pay."

"Your loyalty is endearing, Bella," Voldemort said, stroking at her jaw in a way he'd never done before. Her cheeks flushed, and he realised she was the only actual disciple he had here. In theory, he could go to England and track down Albus Dumbledore and kill him here in the 1920s, but that might have untold consequences. Besides which, even if he did kill Dumbledore, he had no Death Eaters in the time and place. He only had Bellatrix. He sniffed lightly, pulled his hand from her soft cheek, and said in a stern voice, "Let's go."

They walked down the rue Fresnel and through the gardens until they reached the Place du Trocadéro. Voldemort walked quickly to the centre of the plaza and found a bench near some flower beds. He sat, and Bellatrix silently joined him. She kept so much distance between them that he reminded her,

"We're meant to be married, remember?"

"Oh. Yes. Apologies, My Lord." She slid a bit closer, and Voldemort decided against chiding her. Instead he watched Muggles coming and going and contemplated how very mundane their lives must be. In an age before Muggle conveniences like films with sound, and lacking in magic, they had so very little with which to entertain or advance themselves. Voldemort quickly grew bored of watching the Muggles, and instead he flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form. "You look rather elegant in your new dress, Lilith."

The corners of her lips turned up a little, but she kept her eyes ahead on the passing Muggles. Finally she murmured, "Thank you."

Nearby church bells tolled noon, and Voldemort glanced around. Finally he saw him - Jules Bayard - walking straight toward the bench from across the chestnut-lined cemetery nearby. Voldemort rose from the bench and straightened his suit jacket, and Bellatrix flew up to stand beside him. When Bayard stepped up to them, he took Bellatrix's hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

"Madame Black," he said carefully, lowering Bellatrix's hand and turning his attention to Voldemort. He spoke quickly and quietly then as he said, "Gellert Grindelwald was elated to hear of a Legilimens with interest in joining his cause. Since he is so skilled in Legilimency himself, he bears the practise great fondness and wishes to meet with you when he comes to France next week."

Bayard's pale eyes were stony, and suddenly Voldemort understood. He didn't even need to look into the man's eyes to understand. Bayard didn't believe Voldemort's lie about being a British holidaymaker, and he'd passed his suspicions on to Gellert Grindelwald himself. What none of them knew was that Voldemort's Legilimency skills were surpassed only by his incredibly powerful Occlumency abilities. Voldemort kept his own face even more steady than Bayard's and nodded.

"How will we know when and where to meet him?"

"An owl will find you the day before with a time and location," said Jules Bayard. He bowed his head respectfully to Bellatrix and then to Voldemort, and he said crisply, "Good day."

He walked away just as abruptly as he'd come. Bellatrix waited until he was out of earshot, and then she raised her face to Voldemort's.

"Grindelwald will see straight into my mind and find out the truth about us," she worried aloud. Voldemort had thought of that already, of course. He shrugged and said down to Bellatrix,

"You shall simply need to become a very good Occlumens in a very short period of time." He glanced around at the cafés lining the Trocadéro, and he suggested lightly, "How about lunch, then?"

* * *

Bellatrix shut her eyes and sighed heavily. She dragged hot water from the bath tub up and over her face. She was utterly exhausted, more so than she'd ever been, after hours of Occlumency practise. The Dark Lord had hurtled into her mind over and over again, pulling out all sorts of memories and barking at Bellatrix to replace them with other ideas. When she'd started to grow tired and her newly-developed defences had crumbled, he'd threatened to simply Obliviate her. Bellatrix had grown more determined then, finally thrusting forward a fake 'memory' of dancing with Voldemort at a cabaret in London. He'd seemed satisfied then, as though she'd made enough progress for one afternoon.

Bellatrix had been too shaky and tired to eat much when he'd brought up food from a nearby boulangerie. He'd commanded her to go clean herself up and have an early night with plenty of rest so they could practise again in the morning. Bellatrix knew time was an issue; they had somewhere near a week to get her mind strong enough to withstand the prying examination of Gellert Grindelwald. That was rather a terrifying thought, but it also made Bellatrix more determined than ever.

Voldemort had seen in her mind the conversations she'd had with Narcissa, the ones where she'd confessed that she adored the Dark Lord with every ounce of her being. Narcissa had always reminded Bellatrix that she was to marry Rodolphus Lestrange, and that those sorts of feelings should be reserved for her husband. But Bellatrix couldn't help herself then and she couldn't help herself now. The way his eyes had pierced hers during the Occlumency tutoring hadn't helped, and now as Bellatrix sat in the bathtub, she felt herself come alive a little for him.

She would die for him, of course. She would throw herself straight in front of a Killing Curse for him, or she'd get herself killed in battle. She had no qualms or hesitation about killing for him. She would do anything for him. She could barely be bothered to rid her mother's garden of gnomes when asked, but she would gladly starve to death or kill a thousand innocents if it was for Lord Voldemort. She'd loved him with all her being for years, and now she was alone with him in an apartment. That sent all kinds of insane fantasies flurrying inside Bellatrix's mind, and she hurried to drain the bath and step out.

She needed to get ahold of herself, she thought. They were here because of a curse. They would be meeting with Grindelwald next week. They were holding up shoddy alibis. Everything was chaos now, and she needed more than ever to be a steady and reliable soldier for her master. She pulled on the rose-coloured chiffon nightgown she'd purchased, only then realising just how diaphanous and suggestive it was. She grimaced a bit and hurried from the bathroom, racing to open her wardrobe and pull out the velvet robe she'd bought.

But it was too late; Voldemort had appeared in the threshold to the bedroom and was leaning on the doorjamb. He crossed his arms over his white shirt, on which he'd undone the top three buttons, and he licked his bottom lip. Bellatrix froze where she stood, knowing her nightgown was scandalously translucent. She tried not to look embarrassed but felt her cheeks flush hot. Something in the Dark Lord's face shifted; his jaw squared and his lips went into a straight line as though he'd very firmly decided something in his head.

"We need more detailed memories," he told her. "Things to put forward if anyone invades your mind and looks for the truth."

"Detailed memories," Bellatrix nodded. "If you tell me what to imagine, My Lord, I shall try to -"

"No." He shook his head and insisted, "They must be real. At least some of them. I'm a Legilimens myself, Lilith; I can always tell when something's made up."

"Oh." She nodded and suddenly understood. Over the next several days, they would have to do things as Lilith and Edmund, things that she could cement in her mind and allow Grindelwald to see when the time came. She gulped and asked him, "What sort of memories shall we make, then?"

He chewed his lip for a moment and then stepped into the bedroom. She shut the doors to the wardrobe, giving up on the idea of modesty as he loomed over her. He took her face in his hands and pulled his thumbs under her eyes. That feeling sent a shiver up Bellatrix's spine and made her knees weak. She studied his dark eyes, his sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and she whispered something that she hoped wouldn't earn her punishment.

"You're my husband."

"So I am," he nodded. "There are things that husbands do to their wives, aren't there?"

Bellatrix felt very dizzy, but she nodded. She'd never done more than kiss a few boys at Hogwarts, and no one had ever made her feel the way Voldemort was doing now. When she managed to meet his eyes again, he said in a steady tone,

"I love you, Lilith. I have since the day we met."

Bellatrix opened her mouth with surprise, but before she could say anything, he'd lowered his face. His lips pressed against hers, very gently at first and then more insistently. Bellatrix moaned like a whore against him, shocked and delighted by the taste and feel of him. She reached for his shirt and pressed her palms to his chest, adoring the planes and warmth of his skin beneath the fabric. His own hands went from her cheeks to her shoulders, and he pulled her a little closer as he deepened the kiss. Suddenly his tongue was dragging along her bottom lip. When she whimpered, he pushed his tongue inside and pulled it along the roof of her mouth. Bellatrix felt her fingers cinch on his shirt; it was all so intense that she could barely stand up.

This was Lord Voldemort. This was her lord and master, her -

No. This was Edmund Black, her husband. They were here on holiday from Britain. She soaked in the feel of Edmund's lips, of his tongue. She breathed in the scent of her husband and luxuriated in the taste of him. When at last he pulled his mouth away, she whispered into the air,

"I love you too, Edmund."

He let a very long moment pass, his chest heaving a little. He dragged the back of his wrist over his lips, sniffed a little, and cleared his throat.

"That will do for tonight, Bella," he said. "I should think… I suspect that will be powerful enough to overwhelm many thoughts he might try and pull from you."

Bellatrix nodded, feeling her eyes sear. "I think you're right, My Lord."

He seemed almost flustered then, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers and looking away from Bellatrix. She knew her nipples were firm and that he could probably see them through her thin nightgown. She knew she was probably pulsing with want, for she was warm and wet between her legs and lightheaded from the kiss. She crossed her arms over herself and vowed,

"I shall work ten times harder tomorrow, My Lord, on the Occlumency skills. I will not fail you."

"You haven't failed me yet, Bella," he said, still staring at the wall. "Go to bed. Get some sleep. We begin early in the morning."

He turned and walked from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him as he went. Bellatrix somehow managed to stagger to the bed, to drag herself beneath the blankets and shut her eyes. Tonight, owing to her exhaustion, she had no trouble at all falling asleep. And when she dreamed, it was of Edmund kissing Lilith.

* * *

"Again. Legilimens."

Voldemort crashed into Bellatrix's mind for at least the twentieth time that morning. He'd barely given her any time to recover this time. He was seated on the divan with her pacing anxiously before him. This time, the moment his consciousness tangled with hers, he reached for a particularly incriminating memory.

"Crucio!" A scarlet web of light snared around her prisoner. Bellatrix was in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor, torturing an Auror who had -

"I love you, too, Edmund." She watched as his chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. She could still taste him on her lips.

Suddenly Voldemort felt a violent push against his own mild, a whirling sort of scream from Bellatrix's brain. She stopped her pacing and grinned widely.

"It only took me a few seconds that time," she noted proudly. Voldemort just gave her a silent nod. She was learning much more quickly than he'd have imagined possible. He licked his lip carefully and told her,

"Go in the kitchen and get yourself something you eat. We've been at it for hours."

Bellatrix nodded and obeyed him, walking briskly to the cupboards. She pawed through a few of the tinned goods; she could always Transfigure something if she didn't like the flavour. Voldemort had a sudden idea, and he followed her into the kitchen.

"So. What do you think of Paris, Lilith?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the little countertop. She whirled around, her eyes flashing with understanding. She set down a tin of clams and smiled a bit.

"I like it quite a lot, Edmund. It's a shame we've only come to the Continent to find Grindelwald. I think I could stay here forever."

Voldemort smirked. "Perhaps you shall," he told her. "If Grindelwald accepts us into his army, we'll likely be needed here, not in Britain."

"You're very right, of course," she said. She tapped the lid of the tin of clams and asked, "Would you hand me that large saucepan from the hook? I think I'll make us some lunch."

Voldemort - Edmund - reached for the saucepan in question and handed it to her. He watched Bellatrix - Lilith - work. She clearly had experience in the kitchen, though he wondered how that had happened given her privileged upbringing and her time at Hogwarts. She seemed practised as she dragged her wand around the lid of the tin and murmured,

"Diffindo."

The tin lid was severed, and she pulled it away and dumped the tin of clams into a wooden bowl. She filled the saucepan with water using an Aguamenti charm and Summoned a package of long noodles from the cupboard. She sprinkled salt into the water and set it to boiling with another quick charm. She hummed for a moment as the noodles cooked, and then she raised her pretty, wide eyes to Voldemort and said,

"Edmund, hand me that white wine just there, would you?"

He did so wordlessly, somewhat surprised by her apparent domestic nature. He never in a million years would have expected Bellatrix Black to be cooking up clams and spaghetti and butter and wine, but here she was, doing just that.

"There's half a bottle left," she noted, looking at the wine. She Summoned two wine glasses from another cupboard and flicked her wand so that the bottle of wine filled the glasses. It seemed the spaghetti and clams were done then, for she'd begun to drag servings of it into bowls. She handed a bowl and a glass of wine to Voldemort and said in a sly little voice,

"To Paris."

"To Paris," Voldemort nodded. He touched his glass to hers in a little toast and added, "Paris suits you… Lilith."

Bellatrix took a sip of her wine and then Vanished the mess she'd made cooking. Once the kitchen was set to rights and the two of them had taken their seats at the little dining table, she said in her normal, dark voice,

"Do you suppose more mundane memories like that will help, too, My Lord?"

Voldemort flinched. It had all been a fantasy, he knew. The way Bellatrix had become the barefoot wife was just pretend. It was just to create diversions in their minds. But he'd rather liked her like that. He couldn't help himself; he'd liked kissing her the night before and he liked sitting across the table from her now. He sighed as he took a bite of the alarmingly delicious meal she'd made them.

"I do think memories like that will help," he said, "but we can't be sure what Grindelwald is going to do. I admit that I don't trust Jules Bayard any more than he trusts me. We need to be prepared for anything."

Bellatrix nodded solemnly. "Anything, My Lord."

They ate in silence for a little while, until Voldemort finally set his fork down and told her, "You're already quite skilled with Occlumency. It will be a useful tool in your arsenal when we get back to our own time and place."

Bellatrix looked quite contented, and she said earnestly, "I will acquire whatever skills I possibly can to better serve you, My Lord."

He knew she meant that. His other followers - at least the ones in 1972 - were simpering sycophants, and it might be easy to think Bellatrix's enthusiasm mirrored theirs. But she was nothing like the rest of them, he knew. He'd seen the limits of the others, the way they would balk at the most gruesome or demanding orders, the way they would hesitate from time to time. Bellatrix never hesitated, not with him. She was devoted to him down to the marrow of her bones in a way none of the rest of them were. Voldemort knew that. And now they were playing at marriage, banished to a foreign existence, alone together.

He dragged the pad of his finger around the rim of his wine glass and contemplated how delicious she'd tasted the night before. He thought of the way she'd looked in her sheer nightgown. And he thought of how she adored him.

Lord Voldemort had hardly made a habit of women. In his youth, he'd been so handsome that girls had fawned over him at school, and he'd 'allowed' a few to fondle him as if granting them the attention of his cock was a great favour. In the decades since, it had been pure strategy that had led him to occasionally kiss or touch or sleep with a witch. Every now and then, doing so had cemented loyalty or admiration. But his body's responses in all those cases had been the product of the basest biological impulses. He'd never derived any real pleasure from any of it.

He suspected that he might enjoy Bellatrix quite a lot. Even now, he shivered a little at the memory of her voice vibrating against his mouth, of the way he'd gone solid in his trousers at the mere sight of her. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to talk himself out of what he was about to suggest.

"If there is a particularly… vivid… memory of marital relations in your mind, it's likely a Legilimens would get out faster. It's rare that even the most voyeuristically inclined wizards would stand there and… watch."

He opened his eyes to see Bellatrix frozen, a half-chewed bite of clam in her mouth. She finally moved, taking her wine glass in trembling hands and swigging the liquid down. She sounded ashamed as she admitted,

"My Lord, I am a virgin. And… engaged to Rodolphus Lestrange."

Voldemort struggled to control his immediate anger. Had she just rejected him? Bellatrix Black, his servant most filled with adulation? Surely she had not. He gulped hard and opened his mouth to speak, but she continued,

"Besides which, My Lord, the memory would be of me… you know, losing my virginity… in a Parisian apartment. If Edmund and Lilith have been married for some time, that memory would create more problems than it would solve, would it not?"

Of course that was rather logical, but Voldemort's cheeks were still flushed hot from the hint of rejection. He cleared his throat quietly and said in a stern voice,

"I suppose what would need to happen is that you would need to… you know… lose your virginity first." He tipped his head, speaking almost mockingly. "Then the second and third times, or however many times I wanted to take you, it would be as Edmund and Lilith. Have your forgotten, Bella, the oath of loyalty you swore to me?"

"Of course not, My Lord," Bellatrix murmured, nervously adjusting her napkin in her lap. Voldemort sucked his teeth and reminded her,

"You swore to do my bidding, from the most egregious murder down to the most mundane chore. You swore to do exactly what I wanted forever. Have you forgotten?"

"No, My Lord," she said again, this time in a cracked whisper. Her face flushed dark pink and she said, "It is of no consequence to me if I am a virgin when I marry Rodolphus Lestrange. My very soul has belonged to you since before I ever made that oath."

Voldemort felt a surge of want then. He wanted to touch her purely out of lust, but he also wanted to kiss her again like he'd done the night before. He stared at her most-empty bowl of noodles and instructed her,

"Go take your clothes off and wait for me in the bed."

She didn't hesitate. She never did. She rose quickly from her chair, setting her napkin down on the table, and her bare feet moved her quickly to the bedroom. Voldemort swigged down the rest of his wine, very grateful indeed that nobody else was around to see the way Bellatrix Black was turning him into a fool.

* * *

Bellatrix's fingers curled around the blankets and she stared at the ceiling as she waited. She should be elated, she knew. This was what she'd wanted for ages. But the reality of being physical with him, with the Dark Lord himself, instead filled her with an almost overwhelming anxiety. She didn't want to displease him. She wanted him to enjoy herself. She wanted him to…

Bellatrix suddenly had a vision of herself swollen with child, and she panicked a little. She reached for her wand from the table beside the bed and aimed it at her lower abdomen. She murmured the contraceptive spell at girls at Hogwarts were taught, and she set her wand back down.

"Don't worry. If you hadn't done it, I would have," said Lord Voldemort as he strode into the room. Bellatrix's mouth fell open, for he was utterly naked. She looked away quickly, but he let out a low chuckle and informed her, "You can look. After all, I'm your husband. At least for now."

Bellatrix swallowed hard and turned her face back toward him. He was almost devastatingly handsome where he stood beside the bed. He was muscular but not bulging. His arms, for some reason, set Bellatrix ablaze. She stared at one arm and then the other, admiring the way his shoulder curved into his bicep and the lean strength of his forearms. She peeled the blankets back a little, thinking he might like to see his 'wife.'

Suddenly Voldemort's condescending facial expression dissolved a little. A low grunt escaped his lips as his eyes passed from Bellatrix's small, round breasts to her flat stomach and the little thatch of hair between her legs.

"You're… very pretty," he mumbled finally, crawling into the bed. Bellatrix stayed on her back, too anxious to face him. She shut her eyes when she felt his hand close around her left breast. His palm felt a little rough - callouses he'd earned through many years of gripping his wand in battle, no doubt. His long fingers dragged over her nipple and she hissed a bit, tipping her head back against the pillow.

"You like being touched," Voldemort noted. It wasn't a question, but Bellatrix clarified,

"I like being touched by you, My Lord."

He didn't answer, but a moment later, his lips were on hers again. Bellatrix gasped, her hands flying up on instinct to his shoulders. She held fast, relishing the firm muscle beneath her hands as he kissed her. He tasted like wine and clams and butter and himself. Bellatrix whimpered when he suckled on her lip a little, and she had to fight not to cry out when his fingers trailed from her breast downward and settled between her thighs.

She was already wet with arousal, but no one else had ever touched her here. She wasn't quite sure what to do with the sensation. His fingers were at once gentle and urgent, sending jolts through Bellatrix's veins. She felt herself flush and tighten everywhere as the Dark Lord's fingers drew careful circles.

"The first time may hurt," he said matter-of-factly, sitting back onto his knees, "but probably not badly, given how wet you are."

Bellatrix almost gasped with embarrassment at those words, but Voldemort chuckled and quickened his fingers.

"There's no shame in actually wanting it, Bella," he told her, sounding the slightest bit breathless himself. Bellatrix locked her eyes onto his, her fingers wrapped around his forearms as his fingers continued massaging her. He was relentless now, twisting two fingers inside her a bit whilst his thumb pulsed circles on her nub. His breath came harder and faster through his nostrils, and out of her peripheral vision, Bellatrix could see that his cock was hard, standing at attention and visibly throbbing.

She tried to keep her eyes on his. She tried to process that this was reality - that she was in Paris in the 1920s with the Dark Lord's fingers taking her ever closer to the phantom edge. Just as she started to get it through her mind that all of this was real, she found herself squeezing his forearms and arching her back. She felt everything go hot and bright, so much more intensely than when she'd touched herself in the past.

"Good girl, Bella," Voldemort breathed through his teeth. She clamped around his fingers as everything detonated, and she was only distantly aware of the way he pressed his lips to hers and murmured again, "Good girl."

Bellatrix felt herself being pulled to the center of the bed, and she felt abruptly sleepy as she caught her breath. The Dark Lord had pushed her knees apart and had arranged himself there. Bellatrix felt the tip of his cock pressing against her unpractised entrance, and she fisted the sheets as she prepared herself.

"Don't worry; it'll… probably be quick," Voldemort panted. He sounded the slightest bit unhinged as he braced himself against Bellatrix. His hands went to her ribcage and he pushed his hips forward, sending a sharp, stinging jolt to Bellatrix's core. She tried not to cry out, but she knew she was being obvious with how she wrenched her eyes shut and gasped. He filled her slowly and pulled back out again, and Bellatrix gnawed on a knuckle to keep herself silent. Her hand fell away from her mouth the more he moved; it stopped hurting and started feeling divine.

This was her lord, her master, her everything in one unbelievably powerful wizard. She watched him as he moved, in awe not only of what he was doing but of his very being. The fingers of his left hand tangled in her newly cropped curls, and she sighed against the feel of him holding her. He bent to kiss her, and then it was too much. She could feel him everywhere. She could smell him and taste him. He was filling her, leaving her, filling her again. When he bucked hard against her, Bellatrix lost control and came again. He scoffed against her mouth and teased,

"Seems the former virgin is enjoying herself."

Bellatrix had a sudden moment of clarity, and she met Voldemort's eyes square on as she said firmly,

"You know I like it whenever you take me, Edmund."

There was a vibrant flash in his gaze, and his throat bobbed visibly as his hips stilled for a half second. His voice was far more hoarse than usual as he asked her,

"Beg me for more, Lilith."

"Mmm…" Bellatrix dragged her hands up and down the Dark Lord's arms, from his shoulders to his wrists and back again. She quirked an eyebrow up and tried to lock every detail into her mind as she whispered, "Please fuck me harder, Edmund. Please."

He groaned, low and deep in his chest, and he jerked his hips so hard that Bellatrix could barely breathe. She stared at his face and mumbled, "Edmund, Edmund… ohhh. Edmund, please."

"Stop it, Bellatrix." He thrust himself forward with a mighty lurch and locked his lips onto hers, kissing her until it hurt. She could feel him twitching inside of her as he came, and when at last he started to go soft, he pulled his lips away a tiny bit and whispered almost reverently, "Bella…"

He stayed above her for a long moment, and Bellatrix wondered anxiously if she'd made him cross. He answered her unasked question when he pulled himself from her body and raked his fingers through his dark hair.

"You locked a solid memory into your mind. I grew tired of the make-believe. That's all. You did well, Bellatrix. Go clean yourself up."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling a little achy and sore in a way she wasn't used to feeling. As she walked to the bathroom, she heard him murmur a few Tergeo spells, and her face went hot with embarrassment again. But she was also proud. She was proud and grateful that her first time doing that had been with the most powerful wizard who had ever lived, the master she worshipped with all that she was. It suddenly didn't matter that someone had cursed them through time and space. It suddenly didn't matter that they were preparing to meet with the legendary Gellert Grindelwald. Very suddenly and unexpectedly, all that mattered was Voldemort and what he'd done to Bellatrix.

She was putting her clothes back on after wiping herself down when the bathroom door flew open and the Dark Lord, fully dressed, came striding in. He shoved a bit of parchment toward Bellatrix and pronounced,

"This just arrived. By owl."

Bellatrix frowned deeply and read the scrap of paper.

The meeting will occur at six o'clock tomorrow morning on the ground floor of Number 55, rue de Ponthieu. Please be prompt. - J. Bayard

Bellatrix shook her head with confusion. "I thought Grindelwald wasn't coming to France until next week."

Voldemort plucked the little note from Bellatrix's fingers and said crisply, "I told you I didn't trust Jules Bayard. I'd bet a million Galleons that Gellert Grindelwald will not be at that meeting."

Bellatrix blinked. "You think we'll be walking into an ambush?"

"Of course not." Voldemort Vanished the note and tipped his head. "It isn't an ambush if you're fully prepared for battle."

* * *

"Have you got the bag?"

Bellatrix held up the brown leather handbag that Voldemort had enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm. He'd put all of Bellatrix's new clothes and shoes in there, along with tinned foods and a few other household items taken from the apartment. After all, the Dark Lord was not expecting peace when they met with Jules Bayard.

They walked down the rue Pierre Charron in the peaceful quiet of the early morning. It had rained overnight, so everything was damp and the air was chilly, but Bellatrix took a moment to appreciate the city around her as they walked. For being so insignificant and worthless, she thought, the Muggles really had come up with something special in Paris.

"Here it is," Voldemort said at last, gesturing up to the stately Belle Époque building at Number 55. Bellatrix pulled her wand out and adjusted the cross-body strap of her enchanted handbag. She nodded firmly at Voldemort and followed him as he opened the unlocked front door of the building. At the end of a corridor, Bellatrix could see a dining table with a few candles. And sitting at the table was Jules Bayard. He rose as Voldemort and Bellatrix entered the room, and his accented voice was smooth as he gestured to the middle-aged witch beside him.

"My apologies that my associate does not speak English."

Voldemort's eyebrows crumpled a little as he eyed the witch, but he said steadily, "Enchanté, Madame de Renard."

The witch looked at Bayard and said quietly, "Donc, il est vraiment un Legilimens."

Bellatrix knew enough French to understand that much. The woman was surprised - and unhappy, Bellatrix could see - to find that the Dark Lord had invaded her mind. Bayard nodded and said,

"Unfortunately, Gellert Grindelwald will not be able to attend our meeting today."

"That is indeed unfortunate," Voldemort said crisply, "as is the fact, Monsieur Bayard, that you neglected to mention how it is you had that memory of a meeting with Grindelwald in the first place."

Bellatrix's face snapped to her master, and her hand tightened around her wand. Voldemort continued in an almost amused tone,

"You work undercover, tricking Grindelwald into thinking you're one of his. But while you were interrogating me about me possibly working for a Ministry, it was you, Monsieur Bayard. You work for France's Ministry of Magic."

"I do," Bayard nodded, sending a quiver of alarm down Bellatrix's spine. She stared at the woman Voldemort had called Madame de Renard. The witch was stony-faced and held her own wand silently beside her. Bellatrix adjusted her grip and listened as Voldemort noted,

"You mean to arrest me, since I asked after Grindelwald. How quaint. I am not the type to be arrested by anyone, Monsieur Bayard. Avada Kedavra."

Bellatrix blinked through the blinding flash of green light. The other witch, Madame de Renard, yelped and then raised her own wand toward Voldemort. Bellatrix was faster. She aimed her want straight at the witch and shrieked,

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was another flash of green, and then Madame de Renard slumped. Her head smacked the dining table ungracefully as she fell, and her wand clattered against the ground as her hand surrendered its grip. She lay beside Jules Bayard, and Bellatrix realised they suddenly had created two corpses and would probably have an entire Ministry after them in no time.

"I was a fool," Voldemort admitted, staring down at the bodies. "I saw one simple memory in Bayard's mind and I was bold enough to ask about Grindelwald. I ought to have considered that he might be a spy, that his actual loyalties might be elsewhere. I have not been thinking as clearly since we were cursed to this place." He straightened his suit jacket and turned his eyes to Bellatrix. "We need to go. Take my hand."

The last time he'd taken her by Side-Along Apparition, she'd been encouraged to take his sleeve. Now he was telling her to take his hand. Bellatrix tried not to overthink that as she slipped her fingers through his and raised her eyes to him. He glanced back at the bodies and murmured,

"You acted swiftly and effectively. It was well done."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. She knew he must be terribly disappointed that they were no closer to answers now than when they'd been dropped into the apartment. Still, as she felt his hand around hers, she could not help but tell him honestly, "It is an honour to serve you, My Lord. The very highest honour of all."

He nodded and reached with his free hand to tuck her curls behind her ear. "Good girl, Bella."

Then he Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him. After the moment of whirling darkness gave way, Bellatrix realised they were standing in front of a building that looked out onto the front of a vast, impressive railway station.

"Gare de l'Est," Voldemort said.

"We're going to get on a train, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. She knew they had to leave, that the French Ministry would be after them soon enough, but to take a train? Voldemort nodded and said,

"I'll be purchasing tickets under the name of Tom Riddle. We'll take a double cabin on the Orient Express."

"Where are we going, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, still holding his hand. He dragged his thumb over hers and then released her hand as he said rather self-consciously,

"Venice. We're going to Venice."

* * *

The Simplon-Orient Express was an elegant machine, Voldemort had to admit. He'd always thought somewhat fondly of the Hogwarts Express, but this train was on an entirely different level of luxury. It would certainly suffice for the three-night journey to Venice, where he and Bellatrix would find and consult with the vibrant community of Dark witches and wizards for answers.

But for now, he was seated on the narrow, firm sofa, watching Bellatrix get ready for dinner in the adjoining bunk compartment. He'd already Transfigured his black suit into a formal tuxedo. Bellatrix was carefully performing cosmetics spells, painting her lips a deep plum and lining her eyes with thick black lines. She looked rather marvelous in her shimmering black dress, Voldemort thought. He turned his face to stare out the window; the sun was going down on the forest around them, and the shadows created on the ground were mesmerising.

He thought again of how frustrated he was with the way Jules Bayard had managed to pull the wool over Voldemort's eyes. He'd never had any intention of being arrested by any Ministry, for expressing interest in Grindelwald or for anything else. Just the same, it was unnerving that he and Bellatrix had no allies here. He had no army. He had only himself, and he had her. Thankfully, she'd shown herself to be quick and helpful.

"My Lord?"

He looked up to see her standing in the doorway between the two adjoined compartments. She was a sight in her dinner attire, with part of her hair pulled back by a pearl-and-crystal ornament. Voldemort wondered suddenly how it was that he'd gone so many years of knowing and using Bellatrix without properly noticing her physical virtues.

"My Lord," she said again, "Now that our aliases from Paris are no good, what is my name?"

"What is your name?" Voldemort repeated, cocking up an eyebrow at her. He shrugged. "The last I checked, your name was Bellatrix."

Her cheeks coloured a little, and she said, "Forgive me, My Lord; it's just that you booked these compartments under the name 'Tom Riddle,' and I wasn't sure if I was meant to have an alias, as well."

Voldemort's stomach twisted oddly then for some reason. He looked out the window again and said casually, "I went by that name a very long time ago."

She'd know what he meant. She'd know now that Tom Riddle had been his name when he'd been a mere mortal. He couldn't very well go about in this time and place declaring himself to be the great and fearsome Lord Voldemort. He had no other followers, no real power. As he stared out the window and watch the trees rushing by in the fading light, he considered just how unbothered he was by Bellatrix seeing him as a man like any other. It should have enraged him to have a disciple see him so vulnerable as he was here and now. Somehow, it did not bother him nearly enough. He sniffed and rose from the sofa, holding his arm out to Bellatrix.

"Let's go," he said firmly. "I'm famished."

A half hour later he was watching as the Muggle waiter took his and Bellatrix's plates away from their first course. Voldemort waited until the Muggle had gone and sipped from his gin and tonic before he informed Bellatrix,

"The mussels were fine, but I've had far better shellfish."

Her full painted lips parted a bit as her lips curled up with pride. Voldemort remembered the sight of her barefoot in Paris, cooking them clams, and he gulped hard. Bellatrix set down her glass of Bordeaux wine and said very softly,

"My Lord, I had a bit of a thought. About… the bracelet. To be more precise, I had a dream."

Voldemort furrowed his brow. They couldn't speak about magic here. He took another drink of his gin and tonic and said smoothly,

"Let me in. Legilimens."

The mental barriers and diversionary tactics she'd learned were absent as he pushed into her mind. He sensed powerful want from her, which he forced himself to shove aside for the time being. He found the dream she'd had the night before, and he watched it play out before him.

They were inside a shop full of Magical oddities. Inside a glass case lay a silver cuff glittering with diamonds. Bellatrix, in her 1920s clothes with short hair, jerked her chin silently toward the case. Voldemort Summoned the bracelet nonverbally and took hold of Bellatrix's hand. Suddenly they were flying through the same blinding white light that had banished them to Paris, and when Bellatrix came to, she was sitting at the dining table in Grimmauld Place.

That was it. That was the end of the dream, but it was enough. As Voldemort pulled himself from her mind, he nodded to Bellatrix and confirmed,

"We have to find it. It's here, in this… it exists now. Somewhere."

Bellatrix opened her mouth to speak, but the Muggle waiter had come back with bacon and onion tartes. They ate the course in relative silence, and for the first time since arriving in 1924, Lord Voldemort felt a flush of real, genuine happiness. Bellatrix's dream was a vision. He knew it. If they could ask the right people in the right way, they could find that bracelet. It was expensive and seemed one-of-a-kind. Somehow it had appeared in Bellatrix's birthday box, and somehow they would find it here. Voldemort's contented mood led him to finish his gin and tonic and accept another when offered. When the chicory and endive salad was brought out, he found himself asking Bellatrix,

"Are you quite satisfied with your engagement?"

"My engagement?" Bellatrix blinked, setting down her salad fork. A look of realisation came over her face, and she said, "Oh. You mean to Rodolphus. I confess I'd rather forgotten about him given everything that's happened."

Voldemort glanced out the window into the velvet darkness that had settled. He avoided Bellatrix's eyes as he sipped more gin and said in a bland tone, "If the betrothal does not suit you, the wedding needn't happen. I mean to say, your service to me is far more important than becoming a domesticated wife."

"If my master bids me to stay unmarried to better serve him, that is precisely what I shall do," Bellatrix said carefully, "but Rodolphus and I have discussed my priorities. He knows perfectly well that my role as your soldier supersedes anything that will exist between him and me."

Voldemort felt inexplicably queasy at the abrupt notion of Bellatrix swollen with Rodolphus Lestrange's child. He cleared his throat, met Bellatrix's eyes, and said delicately,

"In any case, you're to be very diligent about contraception with him. Once we're back in war, Bella, I can't have you…" He trailed off, unable for some reason to finish his sentence. Bellatrix seemed to understand; her cheeks flushed and she nodded as she murmured,

"Yes. Of course. I'll be very careful, My Lord."

Voldemort sighed heavily, frustrated with himself that he'd allowed his good mood to dissolve. He ate his Camembert quietly and stared at the petit fours that followed. Bellatrix ate her dessert silently, and Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. Finally he raised his eyes and said seriously to Bellatrix,

"I'm sure you've noticed that I've no one else here but you, Bella."

"Yes. I'd noticed, My Lord. But I do promise to be more loyal now than ever." She licked cream off her fork in a way that suddenly made Voldemort's cock twitch inside his trousers. He struggled not to groan as she scooped another small bite of pastry and brought it smoothly between her lips. She noticed the way he was staring, and a crooked little half smile crossed her face. She seemed to deliberately take her time with the next bite, dragging her lips slowly over the tines of the fork as she savoured the chocolate and cream. Voldemort's fingers tightened on the edge of the table, and he whispered in a warning tone,

"Don't taunt me, Bellatrix."

Her cheeky smile vanished, and she set down her fork as she said submissively, "I apologise, My Lord."

"I'm finished eating," he declared, suddenly glad there was no bill to pay in the dining car of a train. He rose from his chair and pulled Bellatrix's out for her, not caring one bit if she was done. She put her hand on his forearm and walked just behind him along the narrow space between tables. They made their way through two cars until they got to their compartment, and as soon as the door was shut, Voldemort took Bellatrix by the shoulders and slammed her hard against the lacquered wood.

She yelped, surprised by his force, but her voice quickly shifted into a little whimper when he bent to kiss her. She tasted like cream, like wine, and as he snared his fingers in her hair, he wanted her more than he cared to admit.

"No more make believe, Bella," he growled, pulling away just enough to wrench off his tuxedo jacket and toss it onto the lower bunk. He yanked at his bow tie and threw that down, too, and he yanked at the hem of Bellatrix's shimmering black dress. She willingly let him pull it up and off as the train's wheels clattered beneath their feet. He tossed the heavy dress down with his jacket and tie and struggled to stay quiet.

Her silk brassiere and matching long knickers were mint green, elegantly made and lovely against her milky flesh. Voldemort watched her unhook the side of the bra as he unbuttoned his own shirt and waistcoat. Those clothes joined the growing pile on the bottom bunk. Voldemort kicked off his dress shoes and watched Bellatrix do the same as she shucked her knickers and rolled down her stockings. She stood back up against the door, and in the tight space of the compartment, Voldemort could smell her. Rose. Wine. Want.

His fingers froze on the placket of his trousers as he studied her appearance. Thin but shapely, with just enough curve and just enough angle. Wide-eyed, full-lipped, seeming even younger than the twenty-one she'd just turned. She adored him. She worshipped him. And she was enough to make him ache inside his trousers.

He kissed her again, this time letting his palms drag around her ribcage and her breasts as he did. Her own fingers worked at the buttons on his trousers, and he was grateful for her boldness. He grunted and shoved her hard against the door when she pulled him out. Her fingers felt miraculous on him. Unpractised and a little bit clumsy, her touch send a shiver and thrill up his spine. He shoved his trousers and underwear down and stepped out of them, kicking them aside ungracefully. He kissed Bellatrix's neck as she stroked his cock, both of them moaning like sinners. She tasted good here, and he felt like a cat lapping up milk as he dragged his tongue and teeth around her delicate skin. He planted his hand on her lower abdomen and summoned his power as he wandlessly incanted a powerful contraceptive charm. She shuddered and he knew it had taken.

He seized her waist and pushed her toward the narrow sofa, facing her away from him and urging her up onto her knees. Her little hands wrapped around the back of the sofa, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder at him. Voldemort just gave her a reassuring little nod as the tip of his cock touched her sodden entrance. When he pushed in, she squealed, and the sound combined with the snug feel of her to make Voldemort's head spin. He held fast to her hips as he pumped steadily into her. He watched her back heave a little from surprise and arousal, and he heard her whisper almost frantically,

"Oh, My Lord. My Lord…"

He twitched inside of her at that. There was no pretending now. No losing her virginity to 'Edmund' to make memories for a Grindelwald who had never materialised. There was only Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black, riding a train to Venice fifty years removed from their own time. There were no Death Eaters here. There was no feud with Dumbledore. There was just Voldemort holding fast to the tiny waist of his most devoted soldier. He buried himself to the hilt inside of her and shut his eyes as he came, feeling the warm satisfaction wash over him like an ocean wave. In a few seconds, the bliss had faded, but he was still dizzy with an almost confusing level of desire.

She cleaned herself up with spells, for the little sink in the corner was less than satisfactory. She stuffed her dinner attire back into the enchanted handbag and pulled out the gauzy pink nightgown that had awakened his senses in Paris. Voldemort pulled his knee-length underwear back on and nothing else, and once they were standing in front of the stacked bunks, he asked her seriously,

"Top or bottom?"

Bellatrix seemed confused for a half second, and then her eyes flicked to the beds. Her cheeks reddened, and she whispered in the obedient tone she always used with him, "I'll take whichever one you don't want, My Lord."

"Hmm. Take the bottom one," he instructed her.

A few hours later, he could hear her breathing beneath him, steady and slow. She was asleep, he could tell. The world outside was pitch black and he could see nothing at all. Only the gentle sway and the clacking beneath them betrayed where they were. Voldemort stared at the curved white ceiling and dragged his fingers along his wand. He had half a mind to descend the ladder and lie down with her, yanking her snugly against him. But of course that would be entirely too intimate. He'd already gone too far, he thought, moaning against her mouth and letting her see how much he enjoyed her. He'd already chipped away at the dynamic they were meant to have as master and servant.

But she was the only one here. She was the only person in this entire existence who knew him as a powerful Dark Lord, as the leader of a political movement. She was the only one here who would kill for him without batting an eye. She was the only one here who knew his names - the old, useless Muggle one and the one that sent fear through the hearts of his enemies. Until they found the bracelet and made their way back to their own time, Bellatrix Black was all he had.

Still, he did not go down the ladder. He wouldn't fall asleep with his most obedient, most skilled soldier wrapped up in his arms. Such a thing was impossible, he told himself, twirling his wand in his fingers and staring at the ceiling. Instead, he just listened to her quiet breath ebbing and flowing. Eventually, that was enough to make his eyes heavy and to drag him off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

With all the travel Bellatrix had done in her life, she had never been to Venice. It was, on the surface, an impressive city. After all, it had been built up from the sea itself as a refuge. But Bellatrix couldn't help wondering why the Muggles hadn't done a better job grounding their sanctuary, or why they couldn't have better disguised themselves from invaders on the mainland. While interesting and unique, Venice was an almost maddening demonstration of Muggles' lack of sophistication and logic.

When she and her master disembarked their luxurious train, they hired a private water taxi to shuttle them from the train station across the lagoon to the actual city. The water taxi was a slick, beautiful vessel crafted from wood even more lovely than that used aboard the train. Just before they stepped up to the row of bobbing water taxis, the Dark Lord bent and scooped up a fistful of pebbles. He turned away from the small crowd and Transfigured the pebbles into Muggle money. Bellatrix smirked; the coins would turn back to stones within a few hours, but it was a clever trick.

She climbed aboard the taxi, taking her lord's hand as she stepped onto the boat in her t-strap heels. Voldemort spoke in quick, furtive Italian to the boat's pilot and passed over a few of his Transfigured coins. Bellatrix marveled at the way he switched languages so easily. He'd had a bit of French, and his Italian was more than a little impressive. She wondered how many languages he actually spoke. Once again, she was reminded of just how magnificent he was, and of how important it was to get him back to an era where he wielded real power.

There were cream-coloured leather seats in the water taxi, but Bellatrix stood and held onto the roof of the boat as it puttered away from the train station. The wind blew her short curls as they glided across the lagoon, and she couldn't help but smile. She hadn't felt movement like this since she'd flown a broomstick - something she'd not done in a good long while. She turned to face Voldemort, who was sitting on the rear leather seats looking relaxed.

"My Lord," Bellatrix said, tucking her wild hair behind her ears and glancing toward the front of the boat, "why did we not just Apparate?"

"This is far more fun," Voldemort told her over the wind, and Bellatrix knew it was true. She stared at him for a moment, at the master who was so much more than an ordinary man. Yet, over the past few days, he had seemed profoundly human to her. When they'd been reading in the cramped compartment, dining in the elaborate cars, sleeping in their stacked bunks… he'd seemed very, very human then. But as Bellatrix watched him now, she knew he existed on a different plane than everyone else. His dark eyes met hers for a moment, and he finally told her,

"The hotel where we're going to stay comes highly recommended. Two employees on the train and now the taxi pilot have recommended it. The Palazzo Menegi."

Bellatrix held fast to the taxi's roof as the boat swayed a bit, and she told Voldemort, "Our goal is to get home, isn't it? I have no need of luxury, Master."

"Need and want are two entirely different things," he said casually, turning his face to examine the bridges and buildings as they entered the Grand Canal. Bellatrix did the same, studying the jade green water and the palatial structures. Again, she thought of how the Muggles had built something special here, but there were some fatal flaws. Many of the buildings were crumbling; the side canals smelled so strongly of sewage that Bellatrix curled her nose up where she stood. Muggle architectural achievement could be shockingly impressive and pathetic at once.

They passed the Rialto bridge and veered right down a narrow, snaking canal. After a while, the boat paused in front of an orange plaster building. The pilot docked the taxi, snaking rope by hand around a post and nearly falling into the canal in the process. Again, Bellatrix considered how useful magic would be in such a situation. She followed Voldemort into the cramped, dark lobby of the hotel. In a nearby salon, someone was playing a piano and a few people were drinking wine and having a lively conversation. Bellatrix studied the mirrors and statues in the lobby as the Dark Lord confidently stepped up to the front desk.

There was a little conversation in Italian then. Bellatrix watched the exchange in the reflection of an enormous, partially tarnished mirror. After a moment, she saw the Muggle behind the desk shiver and go quiet, and she knew at once that he'd been Confounded. He turned around quietly and pulled a brass key from a rack behind him. He nodded and murmured something in Italian, and Lord Voldemort barked in a low tone,

"Bellatrix, come."

She followed him up three flights of winding stairs, and he said over his shoulder, "We've prepaid for ten days in the Grand Suite. At least, that's what that Muggle believes."

Before Bellatrix could ask what the Grand Suite entailed, she had come onto a landing with just one door. Voldemort put the key into the door and pushed it open, and then Bellatrix had her answer. She froze as Voldemort shut the door behind her. She'd grown up wealthy, but this was something else entirely.

The walls of the suite's main room were covered in a stylish taupe damask wallpaper. Black velvet curtains had been swept aside from the flung-open windows that looked out over the canal. Stout furniture in taupe velveteen, an enormous Turkish rug, and gilded mirrors and lighting fixtures filled out the space. Bellatrix wandered slowly into the bathroom, which was filled with white marble and black accents. The claw-foot tub and the pedestal sink gleamed with silvery fixtures. In the bedroom, a wide bed was surrounded by gauzy red curtains that matched the gold-and-red wallpaper and rug. Bellatrix had to wonder if Voldemort meant to Transfigure a divan into a bed the way he'd done in Paris, or if perhaps they might actually spend the night in the same bed.

"Bella," she heard him say sharply, and she hurried out into the parlour.

"Yes, My Lord?"

"Sit," he instructed her, gesturing to a taupe wingback chair. Bellatrix obeyed, sitting with a ramrod-straight back and her hands folded in her lap. Voldemort sat on the sofa and tapped his foot on the ground for a moment, apparently thinking. He stared at the low wooden table before him and said carefully, "When Tom Riddle was a young man with no real purpose, he worked at Borgin and Burke's. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix felt surprised, but she nodded silently. It was odd to think of him as an orphaned Hogwarts graduate with no name or power, though she supposed he was no more than that here and now. Voldemort drummed his fingers on the cushion of the sofa and raised his eyes to Bellatrix.

"Several times in the 1940s, a wealthy Venetian wizard called Aloysius da Chioggia came into Borgin and Burke's. He was particularly interested in Dark objects he could only find in Britain - certain books, a cursed piece of luggage. He bought a powerful onyx sphere once that was rumoured to have been created by Merlin himself."

Bellatrix just nodded again. A Dark wizard from Venice that Voldemort had known in another life. She thought she could see where this was going. Voldemort continued,

"When I met him in the mid-1940s, Aloysius da Chioggia was around sixty years old. In this time, he should be… well, a bit younger than I appear now. I remember the address he gave Caractacus Burke once when something had to be shipped. Cannaregio 5979."

"And you think this man - this Aloysius da Chioggia - might be able to track down the bracelet?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort nodded once.

"It's certainly worth meeting with him. But I'm going to go without you, Bella."

She frowned, feeling confused rejection strike her through. She resisted the urge to speak and just nodded. Voldemort's mouth quirked halfway up.

"What a good girl you are. Not even asking me why."

"Should I have asked why, My Lord?" Bellatrix twiddled her thumbs a little, and Voldemort smirked.

"He may have been different twenty years earlier, but I have a vivid memory of Signor da Chioggia speaking very inelegantly about young women. Until I've established a good rapport, I want you to wait here."

Bellatrix felt her eyebrows go up, but she nodded. "Of course, My Lord."

"Right. I'm going to go, then," Voldemort said, rising from the sofa, "before night settles. This city becomes rather a strange place after dark."

* * *

As Voldemort crossed a low, ancient-looking bridge, his footfalls were the only sound around him. In the stifling evening air, the smell of the little canal was almost overwhelming. He was relieved to be able to walk across a small square, away from the stench, and to step up to a worn wooden door marked 5979. He knocked firmly and waited. After what felt like an eternity, the door swung open, and a tall, thin man in his forties stood in the threshold. He pushed up an eyebrow and said in a condescending tone,

"Cosa vuoi, signore?"

In the 1940s, Aloysius da Chioggia had been possessed of impeccable English, so Voldemort said smoothly, "Mi scusi, ma possiamo parlare inglese? I'm looking for a man called Aloysius da Chioggia."

"And what would you want with such a man?" da Chioggia demanded. Voldemort tipped his chin up a little and said,

"I've been informed by Caractacus Burke that you may be just who I need if there's an oddity I'm hunting."

The other man's face curled into a little smile, and he beckoned into his home. "Per piacere! Come inside."

Voldemort followed him down an entry corridor of orange-and-white marble. A young witch, perhaps sixteen years of age, was reading in a parlour to the side, and she eyed Voldemort as he passed. Aloysius da Chioggia led Voldemort into the kitchen at the back of the house and leaned heavily onto his butcher block.

"Who are you?" he asked plainly, and Voldemort hesitated for a half instant.

"I'm Tom Riddle," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm in search of a very specific bracelet - a cuff made of silver and diamonds."

"And what do you want with this bracelet?" asked da Chioggia. Voldemort chewed the inside of his cheek. He poked quickly into da Chioggia's head and felt only curiosity, along with a sweeping Darkness. He could trust this man.

"Without giving so much detail as to endanger everyone involved," he said very carefully, "suffice it to say that this bracelet is cursed to hurtle victims through time and space. I believe my only return ticket is to use the same item."

"Ah." da Chioggia dragged his tongue over his bottom lip and said, "I've heard of such items, but only as rumours. There will be quite a price if I can locate it for you. A finder's fee, you understand."

"Of course," Voldemort nodded. He crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Name your price."

Aloysius da Chioggia seemed to consider his answer for a moment, and then he said, "Five thousand Galleons if I find it within two weeks. A thousand if I can find it in a month. I won't search longer than that for any price."

Voldemort nodded. He couldn't make this man understand just who he would be in fifty years' time, so he feigned deference. "I'm glad I have the right man. I'm staying at the Palazzo Menegi with my… female associate."

The Venetian smirked and let out a low laugh. "You talk of a cursed diamond bracelet and of staying in a romantic city with a female associate. She must be very pretty to have put you through such trouble."

"She is," Voldemort nodded. "Remarkably so. Shall I sketch up the bracelet so you know what you're looking for?"

"Yes." da Chioggia went to the kitchen doorway and yelled in a shockingly abrasive tone, "Marcella! Portami carta e una matita! Fallo ora!"

The sound of pattering feet came down the corridor. The teenaged witch who had been reading earlier obediently handed a drawing pad an a pencil to da Chioggia, who gave Voldemort a cheeky smile. He gestured to the girl and said,

"Mr Riddle, meet Marcella. My female associate."

Voldemort nodded to indicate his understanding. So the man hadn't changed much in twenty years, then. He supposed he wasn't much better; Bellatrix was twenty-five years his junior. But she did not act a child. She was bold and fearless, sultry and powerful. Her seduction lay in her submission, in her velvet words and her wide eyes.

Voldemort cleared his throat roughly, trying not to think of Bellatrix as he sketched the bracelet. That was impossible, of course; she'd been present the only time he'd seen it. He tried his best to replicate the lacing of the silver, the shape of the inlaid stones. He finally handed the sketch to da Chioggia and confirmed,

"Five thousand Galleons if you find it in two weeks."

"I know every Magical oddity shop and dealer in Europe, Mr Riddle," said Aloysius da Chioggia, taking the sketch and looking it over. "If anyone can find this bracelet, it is me. But… you've been dropped into Venice. Are you sure you want to go back to soggy, sullen Britain?"

"I wish to return to the existence from which I was thrown," Voldemort confirmed, remembering the way he'd been able to summon dozens of followers through their Dark Marks, the way people had feared saying his name, the way his enemies and friends alike feared and revered him. He gulped hard and nodded, saying again, "Yes, Signore. I need that bracelet."

* * *

"Would it trouble you greatly, Bella, if the two of us simply made use of the one bed that is here?"

Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open at the question. She shook her head and whispered, "No, My Lord. Of course not."

"Good," he said crisply, unbuttoning his white shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it over the bench at the end of the bed. "Seems silly to do otherwise after… everything."

Bellatrix knew what he meant by 'everything.' Taking her virginity in the apartment in Paris. Sex on the train. Sleeping so near one another for nights on end. It would be prudish and pointless to conduct a charade of modesty. Still, Bellatrix felt nervous where she stood beside the bed. When the Dark Lord had returned from his meeting with Aloysius da Chioggia, he'd explained that all they could do now was wait and try to think of other options. Bellatrix had cleaned her teeth and neatened herself up before sliding her black silk nightgown on. Now she stood beside the bed, wondering if she should climb in first or wait for her master. She was grateful that she'd cast a longer-lasting contraceptive spell on herself in the bathroom earlier; she had no idea when she might next be gifted with his body.

Suddenly she felt a little press in her mind, a dull vibration that signaled intrusion. On instinct, her newly-acquired Occlumency skills went into full force. She shoved forward a memory of finding Narcissa snogging Lucius Malfoy in the Slytherin Common Room - an incident she would use as ammunition for blackmail for several years. Voldemort laughed darkly and pushed harder. Bellatrix wasn't sure if she was meant to keep him out or not, and in the split second of indecision, he found what he was looking for.

The Dark Lord let out a low groan from deep in his chest, and he bucked wildly his hips until Bellatrix was breathless. She found his face and managed to say, "Edmund, Edmund… ohhh. Edmund, please."

"Stop it, Bellatrix." The Dark Lord buried himself against Bellatrix and kissed her with so much force that it stung and ached. He came inside of her and hovered, panting, until he went soft. When at last he pulled his lips back, he said in a reverent tone, "Bella…"

He withdrew from Bellatrix's mind, and she stared at him across the bed for what felt like rather a long moment. He finally raked his fingers over his head and mumbled,

"Once we get back to our own time and place, you'll be set to marry Rodolphus Lestrange. As it should be, probably. It isn't… what I've done to you is not becoming of Lord Voldemort and his servant."

"I understand, My Lord," Bellatrix said, though she felt something crumple and shatter inside her chest.

"Just the same," he continued, pacing a little, "if I wanted to keep you - as a sort of plaything, mind - I would be within my rights to do so. I am your lord and master; Rodolphus Lestrange is not."

"Whatever you think best, My Lord," Bellatrix said, not sure of what else she could say in a situation like this. Voldemort's dark eyes found hers, and he jerked his chin toward the bed as he informed her,

"I think it best that you get into the bed right now, Bella."

Bellatrix obeyed, feeling a tingle go up her spine as she did. Voldemort paced a few more steps, not looking at her, and then he said quietly,

"Take off your nightgown."

She did as he said, pulling the soft black silk up and over her head. She hadn't put knickers on, and so now she sat in the bed, naked and a bit self-conscious. She met Voldemort's eyes as she tossed the nightgown aside, and for another interminable moment, he just stared. She felt him push back into her mind, and this time she put up no resistance. A memory was snared and pulled forth, and it played in the space behind Bellatrix's eyes as the Dark Lord watched.

"Wait up! Bellatrix!"

She turned round to see Regina Shacklebolt trotting down the path toward her. Bellatrix had been on her way to Hogsmeade, solitary as always. Regina held out a small scroll to Bellatrix, her breath puffing in the cold air before her. Regina grinned and said,

"He wanted me to give you this. Rodolphus Lestrange."

"Oh." Bellatrix frowned and unfurled the little scroll. On the paper was an elaborately sketched portrait of Bellatrix that smirked and twirled her hair. Rodolphus was either a very good artist or had used an impressive series of spells to make this. Either way, the message was clear. He had a serious crush on Bellatrix. But she, of course, pined after the Dark Lord that her father followed so closely. Lord Voldemort was not only handsome; his allure lay in his power. That was something Rodolphus Lestrange would never be able to replicate, no matter how many of these sweet gestures he tried.

"You should at least let him take you for a walk by the lake or something," Regina Shacklebolt was saying, and Bellatrix rolled the scroll up and shoved it into her school bag. She cleared her throat and said,

"My interest lies very thoroughly with someone else."

Regina gave her a knowing look. "You mean… him? He's much older, Bellatrix, and he's… well, you know. He's the Dark Lord himself. We've nearly finished school now; focus your attentions on the type of good, pureblood boy who actually wants to be your husband someday."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the advice, Regina. I don't want to talk about men right now. Come with me to Hogsmeade, will you? I have to get my sister Andromeda a birthday gift, and I'm terrible at shopping."

Voldemort withdrew again from Bellatrix's mind, and she waited for his reaction. He scoffed quietly and dragged his fingers over the red brocade covers where he stood beside the bed. "You ignored the affections of your betrothed so that you could lust and long after me. Is that right?"

Bellatrix swallowed hard and admitted, "Yes, My Lord. That sounds about right."

He raised his eyes to her, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip. "What made you want me so badly?"

Bellatrix struggled not to explode from embarrassment right then and there. She forced an awkward little laugh and shrugged as she said, "Whenever you were at my father's house, I was overwhelmed, My Lord. You're incredibly handsome, of course, but it was more than that. I knew what you believed, what you had planned, and it aroused me just to think of it. To think of you reigning over everyone and everything. Sometimes at night I'd stare at the ceiling in my dormitory and imagine a wizarding world with you in unquestioned authority. It was… very often, it was almost too much to bear. I wanted more than anything to serve you, to become a soldier for you. Others talked about working for the Ministry or opening up shops after school, but all I wanted was to be yours. It was impossible to perseverate over the boyish flirtations of Rodolphus Lestrange when I could dream about my master."

Voldemort's dark eyes shone now in a strange way that Bellatrix had never seen. He moved slowly and deliberately as he unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them off with his underwear. He was already mostly hard, Bellatrix could see, and as he stood beside the bed, he started to stroke himself. She watched, feeling everything set on fire within her as his hand pumped slowly along his length.

"Tell me, Bella," he whispered. "Did any of those dreams ever fade from your mind? Once you left school, did your longing for your master weaken?"

"No, My Lord," she assured him, crawling across the mattress toward him. She stared up at him, her eyes wide with want and her body tingling from head to toe. "It only got worse the closer I got to you. Sometimes I'd pass you in a corridor, and your robes would brush my skin, and I would be lost for days. Sometimes I'd hear your voice in another room, and it was as if you were touching me with your hands instead of phantom words. All I want is to worship you."

"Mmph…" Voldemort's hand stilled on his cock, and then he ripped it away as his eyes fluttered shut. He seemed a little breathless, as though Bellatrix had done more by talking than she could ever do by touching him. His eyes still closed, he murmured, "Lie down."

She did, and he followed her into the bed. He slid between the sheets with her and lay on his side facing her. Bellatrix was nearly overcome by the nearness of him; heat radiated from his skin, and she could see the slight contrast between his dark brown eyes and his pupils. He reached to pet her short curls and whispered,

"How fortunate I am that my most devoted disciple happens to be very beautiful."

Bellatrix gasped at that, and she was so wet between her legs that she wondered if he'd made her finish just by touching and talking. He pressed his lips to hers and wrapped one of his arms around hers. As he deepened the kiss, which tasted like the wine he'd had at dinner, he pressed his palm to the small of her back and grunted a bit. Bellatrix absorbed the feel of him, of his long fingers tightening on her skin, and she started to rub her thighs together desperately.

"You want me," he mumbled, pulling his mouth back and touching his forehead to hers. She nodded and whispered furtively,

"Yes. Yes, My Lord. I want whatever bit of you I'm worthy of receiving. Please."

He just rubbed his hand up and down her back and moved his lips to her neck. That was so much, too much, and Bellatrix moaned more loudly than she'd intended on doing. The place where his mouth suckled her was sending spikes of desire and arousal straight to her core. Bellatrix reached impulsively to hold his head, to rub his scalp with her fingertips as he attacked her neck.

Suddenly he hauled one of her knees up and around his hips until their legs were stacked like scissors. She felt his tip at her entrance and cried out as he pushed into her body. The feel of him filling her combined with the feel of his mouth on her neck, and she came with the force of an explosion. She could feel herself clenching around his length, could tell that her fingers had quickened on his scalp, and she felt the vibration of his low voice against the skin of her neck. It seemed to last forever, a burst of pleasure and satisfaction that only strengthened as he started to rock his hips.

Voldemort pulled his face back from Bellatrix and stared at her with lips swollen from his brutal kisses. His eyes rolled back a little as he filled Bellatrix over and over, and he whispered, "You wanted nothing more than to be mine. Is that right?"

"Yes, Master," she managed to choke out, holding his shoulder as his cock ground against her with every thrust. She nodded and added, "I knew it was a silly dream, but I dream it still just the same."

"You are mine, Bella," he breathed, burying himself to the hilt and pulling her flush against his body. She listened to his breathing and his racing heart and felt him twitch inside of her as he finished. His legs tensed and his hands clenched his his breath hitched, and for a moment Bellatrix wanted to freeze time forever. Then he was petting her hair again and whispering in a shaking voice, "Mine. My beautiful soldier. The only one I have here who's mine. And when we go back home, Bella, you'll be mine more than the rest of them. Is that what you've wanted all along?"

"It's… much more than I could have imagined, My Lord," Bellatrix said honestly, feeling her eyes well as she raised them to him. He slid out of her and rotated her panting body, pulling her against him as his soft, wet cock replaced his hand at the small of her back. He pulled the blankets up over them and snared one arm around her, and he murmured, "Sleep. In the morning we do some research to try and figure out how all this happened in the first place. So try and sleep."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix knew she wouldn't have to try very hard. Wrapped up in his arms like this, in a way that would have made Regina Shacklebolt go scarlet with shock and probably jealousy, she was content and tired. She dared to lace her fingers through Voldemort's on the mattress before her, and he didn't protest.

His. His most devoted servant, his plaything, his lover. It didn't matter what she was, Bellatrix thought, as long as she was his.

* * *

"The Bridge of Sighs," Voldemort said, gesturing up to the enclosed bridge that connected interrogation rooms in the Doge's Palace to the prison on the other side. He scoffed quietly and admitted to Bellatrix, "I don't like much about Muggles, but I have to admit I like that idea. The view from the bridge was the last time people would see Venice before going to prison. According to legend, they would pause in the bridge for a moment, look out over the city from which they were being banished, and sigh."

Bellatrix stood beside him, shading her eyes from the violent sunshine. "It's almost poetic," she said, and Voldemort nodded.

"Almost."

He didn't tell her the rest of the legend, that kissing in a gondola at sunset under the Bridge of Sighs would grant eternal love. He would never speak of such things, and, anyway, it was just a silly Muggle myth. He sniffed lightly and turned his face to the grand piazza beyond Bellatrix. They hadn't come here to sightsee. They'd spent the last four days mostly holed up in the hotel, reading and brainstorming other means of traveling decades at a time. They'd tracked down a book on Magical time travel from a shop hidden among a string of Muggle book shops. The book had been of no help; minor use of Time Turners in their own era was far more advanced than anything the book had suggested. Traveling fifty years and coming back again was nowhere in the text.

Early this morning, an owl had come through the hotel window with a note from Aloysius da Chioggia, requesting a meeting in the Caffè Florian to discuss his progress in finding the bracelet. As the bells of the nearby Campanile tolled noon, Voldemort sighed and told Bellatrix,

"It's time. Come."

He led the way into the bustling square, which was crowded with Muggles feeding pigeons and sipping espresso. There were tables and chairs set up outside the Caffè Florian, and nearby a string quartet played some admittedly lovely music. Aloysius da Chioggia was sitting at one of the tables with a cigar in his mouth and a glass of red wine before him. Voldemort couldn't help being grateful to da Chioggia for meeting them outside; it was so hot today that he knew the inside of the restaurant would be stifling hot. Da Chioggia nodded when he saw Voldemort, and his eyes flicked to Bellatrix. A predatory little smile crossed the man's lips, and Voldemort pushed into his mind quickly.

Lust. He sensed instantaneous lust for Bellatrix. Voldemort pulled back out of da Chioggia's mind as they approached. He couldn't blame the other man; Bellatrix looked stunning in her wispy summer dress of peach chiffon. Her dark curls peeked out from the straw cloche hat she wore. She seemed to pick up on the way da Chioggia was eyeing her; she shifted on her feet a little beside Voldemort as she said awkwardly,

"Buongiorno, Signore."

Da Chioggia barked out a little laugh as he stood. He set his cigar down on the tray on the table and smiled at Voldemort. "How charming she is, your female associate. Sit, please, both of you. I hope it's all right; I've ordered some tea sandwiches - asparagus and egg, fish and olive - we call them tramezzini. I couldn't host you at a Venetian restaurant, Muggle or otherwise, and not insist you eat our food properly."

Voldemort folded his hands on the table, wanting to get straight to business. He gestured offhandedly beside him and told da Chioggia, "Allow me to introduce Miss Bellatrix Black. Bella, this Aloysius da Chioggia."

"È un piacere conoscerti, signorina." da Chioggia reached across the table and seized Bellatrix's knuckles, his lips lingering on them a half moment too long. Fortunately, the Muggle waiter came by with a tray of little sandwiches and a stack of plates. He asked for a drink order, and Voldemort quickly asked for two glasses and a pitcher of water. Once the waiter had gone, he looked da Chioggia in the eye and asked,

"Any progress?"

"Some." Aloysius da Chioggia looked to Bellatrix for a moment and then back to Voldemort. He lowered his voice and said, "I went to Rome yesterday. I have a friend there who specialises in Necromancy and time travel. Mostly interest, very little practise, as you can imagine. But he gave me this."

He reached into the leather bag beside his chair and pulled out a small leather book that looked very old indeed. He passed it across the table to Voldemort. The title was in Latin, but the moment he read it, his heart started to race.

"Mysteria Tempus," he said. "The Mysteries of Time. I'd heard the last copy of this book was destroyed in the late 1700s."

Bellatrix eyed him breathlessly, and Aloysius da Chioggia said rather proudly, "What you are holding in your hands is the last actual copy of that book. As far as we know. All Ministries in Europe destroyed copies because -"

"It gives specific instructions and spells for time travel," Bellatrix nodded. When the wizards both stared at her, impressed, she smiled and said, "We learned about it at Hogwarts, in our History of Magic course."

"Good on you for paying attention, then," Voldemort said smoothly. He opened the book with a careful touch, exercising great caution with the book's fragile binding and pages. His mind made quick work of the Latin text inside.

… but although it is generally assumed that time travel is only possible in small increments, the reality is that some witches and wizards have been known to transcend up to a century through time and space. None, however, were able to return to their 'home' era.

Voldemort scowled and shut the book. "This isn't encouraging. It says no one's ever gone back after an extended period of time traveled."

"But there's always a first time, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered. Aloysius da Chioggia gave her a strange look at the honorific she'd used, and her cheeks coloured as she amended, "Just because no one's ever done it successfully doesn't mean we can't. Especially a powerful wizard like yourself."

"My, but you do have her under your boot, don't you?" mused da Chioggia. Voldemort rolled his eyes a little and pressed,

"Have you any leads at all on the bracelet?"

"No," da Chioggia admitted. "I've sent owls to contacts of mine in Zurich, Moscow, London, Berlin, Barcelona… every shop for Dark oddities that I can think of. The only responses thus far have been…"

He trailed off, for the Muggle waiter had come back with the pitcher of water. He put empty glasses down and Voldemort waved him away. He poured water for himself and Bellatrix and handed her a glass. She mumbled her thanks and chewed nervously on a little sandwich as da Chioggia continued,

"The only responses so far have been a definitive 'no idea' and one witch stating she had a gold and ruby bracelet for sale if I was interested in jewelry. I asked my friend in Rome for more contacts, more collectors' names and addresses. I'll keep searching. In the meantime, the book is yours. A little experimentation never hurt, eh?"

"Right." Voldemort handed the copy of Mysteria Tempus to Bellatrix, and she tucked it away in her handbag. Aloysius da Chioggia chewed a sandwich, sipped some wine, and took a puff on his cigar. He eyed Bellatrix again and said playfully,

"Signorina, do be certain to ride a gondola beneath the Bridge of Sighs at sunset with your… male associate."

Bellatrix smiled a little and shook her head. "Is there something particularly significant about going beneath that bridge at that time?"

Voldemort frowned deeply at da Chioggia, who puffed again on his cigar and nodded to Bellatrix. "It's a particularly beautiful view that time of day. That's all. Now… the both of you, eat these tramezzini, will you? They're quite good for being Muggle food."

* * *

Bellatrix was abruptly grateful for the education in Latin she'd received as a child as she forced her way through the text of the little book.

Some objects can be enchanted to send those who touch them to a specific place - much like a Portkey - with the addition of time travel. Unlike Portkeys, these objects' effects are activated upon touch and can be customised to only work on certain people. Because of the weaponised nature of such items, their creation has been outlawed for so long that the spells needed to make them have long disappeared from general knowledge. It is suspected that some combination of Gnavigo Charms was used. These difficult and enigmatic incantations are also widely illegal.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix called, rising quickly from the sofa in the suite's parlour. She dashed quickly through the bedroom to the bathroom. He was in there with a towel around his waist, running a steel comb through his greying hair. He dropped the metal comb against the porcelain sink when Bellatrix came storming into the bathroom.

"P-pardon me, My Lord," she stammered, feeling her cheeks go hot at the sight of him freshly out of the bath. She turned her head away a little and passed him the book. She cleared her throat delicately and said, "Second paragraph, Master. I shall wait in the -"

"Stay." His eyes scanned over the words Bellatrix had just read in the parlour, and he nodded slowly. He turned his face to Bellatrix and said, "Adlocum."

Bellatrix shrugged. "I beg your pardon, My Lord?"

"Adlocum," he repeated. "It's an old spell I found buried in a book long ago. It was the standard spell for making Portkeys until the 1850s or so. It was unstable; sometimes it didn't take people to a precise enough location. Much like Floo Powder, it requires clarity of thought to be cast correctly. There was an accompanying spell in the book - Adannis - which was said to be a profoundly unreliable way of sending people through time. They were two of the Gnavigo Charms. Outdated, outmoded, but…"

"But probably what was used on bracelet?" Bellatrix finished. Voldemort pursed his lips and read over the passage in the book again. He finally nodded.

"I think it may be so," he told her. He picked up his wand from the shelf above the sink and then the metal comb he'd been using. She watched his throat bob, and he sounded a bit uncertain as he told her, "I need you to serve me now better than usual, Bella."

"Of course," she choked out, suspecting she knew what he was going to do. Sure enough, he set the comb on the shelf above the sink and started dragging the tip of his wand over it.

"Adlocum Lectulo… Adannis Duora. Adlocum Lectulo. Adannis Duora."

After a long moment of just staring at the comb, he stepped backward and turned his face to Bellatrix. His eyes were glazed a bit, as though he'd worked so hard to focus his magic that he'd exhausted himself. He gulped again and gestured at the comb.

"Pick it up," he told Bellatrix. She obeyed him as she always did, moving nervously toward the comb with her hand extended. For all she knew, she was about to be hurled into some abyss and never see him again. She kept her eyes locked on his as her fingers curled around the comb. Everything went hot and white, blinding and searing, then frigid cold and whirling.

Suddenly she was on her back, lying on her side of the hotel's bed and staring at the ceiling. She glanced at the open window and saw that it was pitch black; it had been just after sunset. Lord Voldemort stood at the end of the bed in a pair of black linen pyjama trousers, his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded as Bellatrix sat up, and he said in a solemn voice,

"Two hours. I sent you forward two hours."

Bellatrix blinked and looked around. She glanced down to see that the comb had vanished from her hands, just as the bracelet had done in Paris. She raised her eyes to the Dark Lord's and asked,

"And do you suppose, My Lord, that you might replicate that effect with fifty years?"

He chewed his lip and tipped his head. "I've been thinking for the past few hours. We'll need to play around with it a bit. Forward and back a few hours, then a few days. Trying distances that are further and further apart. Then, once I'm very confident in the spells… we'll try and go all the way back."

Bellatrix nodded. She still felt a little woozy, though nowhere near as disoriented as she'd felt when she'd crashed onto the ground in the Paris apartment. For the first time since being hurtled back in time, she felt a flush of real hope that she would get home, that her lord and master would reign again. But as she stared at him, another thought came into her mind.

"I'll marry Rodolphus soon," she murmured aloud, and Voldemort nodded once.

"You will, but it won't matter," he informed her. "You'll still belong to me."

Bellatrix's lips curled up with happiness. They would go back to their own time and place, but she knew something would be different between them. They could never really go back; he could never undo the way their bodies had been tangled together throughout an entire night, nor the way they'd each grown accustomed to the other's touch. Soon they'd find their way back to the 1970s, and he'd be in command again, but it was as he'd said. She was his now, and that was something that time and space could not undo.


	4. Chapter 4

She was late.

Only three hours late, but still… Voldemort wandered up and down the little promontory in Caorle toward the bell tower of the church there. This small spit into the Adriatic was about seventy-five kilometres from Bellatrix. It was the furthest distance they'd tried yet. Far more importantly, this was the furthest they'd tried in time.

It had been nearly two weeks since Voldemort had seen Bellatrix. They'd tried holding hands and touching enchanted objects to move a few hours forward together. Then he'd gone two whole days forward while Bellatrix waited for him. He'd been far too afraid to try going backward; he didn't know what existential crisis might be triggered by entering a time and place in which they already existed. He was nervous to try and travel back directly from England for the same reason; they needed to be in a time and place where they'd never been.

Two weeks ago, he'd informed Bellatrix that she would (hopefully) take hold of an empty wine bottle and reappear in what would feel like a moment for her. For him, for Voldemort, it would mean two weeks of interminable waiting time. He'd brooded at the Caffè Florian, getting lost at the bottoms of glasses as he listened to chatter and violin music. He'd met and spoke with Aloysius da Chioggia, who was no closer to finding the bracelet than he'd been before. Voldemort was losing hope that da Chioggia would find the bracelet at all, but it seemed ever more likely that the book, _Mysteria Tempus_ , was the object they actually needed.

For days on end, he'd strolled around Venice thinking about Bellatrix, about how beautiful she was and how she worshipped him. If they ever got back to the 1970s, he wouldn't be able to pretend that _this_ hadn't happened. He wouldn't be able to treat her as a pretty young woman who was slightly more adoring than the rest of the sycophants. No. She'd forever be _his_ Bella, the witch he'd kissed and caressed in beds and on trains. Now as he paced the promontory in Caorle, realising she was hours off in arriving, he hoped he hadn't accidentally sent her to the bottom of the lagoon four months in the past.

But then there was a sudden gust of wind around him, and as he turned over his shoulder, he saw a bright flash of light on the rocky path beside the Adriatic. Voldemort walked quickly toward the light, out of which Bellatrix suddenly materialised. It was as though she'd been tossed like a rag doll; she landed so hard on the rocks that Voldemort winced. He flicked his wand and murmured a few healing spells as she pulled herself up to stand. She glanced around, adjusting the black chiffon dress she wore, and she nodded.

"Came straight here, My Lord. Was it…?"

"Two weeks," he nodded, feeling a twist in his stomach at seeing her again. He gulped and said, "I've been rather bored, I must admit."

Bellatrix scoffed. "Venice is an exciting city, My Lord; I'm sure you found all manner of ways to -"

He silenced her by seizing her face in his hands and kissing her for all he was worth. She squealed with surprise, for things had been quite serious and not at all playful when she'd left. As far as Voldemort knew, there were no Muggles within sight, but he couldn't care if they saw what he did. He put one hand at the small of Bellatrix's back and put his lips to her ear.

"Come with me," he murmured, and he Disapparated. There was the usual pinching and squeezing sensation. When they came to in the bedroom of their hotel suite, Bellatrix looked a little dizzy and admitted,

"Lots of… erm… travel," she whispered, taking a step backward. She looked like she might be sick. Voldemort frowned and pointed his wand through the bathroom door at the tub.

" _Adbalneum_ ," he murmured. The bath tub's drain closed and the taps turned on, starting to fill the tub with hot water and magically present, fragrant bubbles. Voldemort reached around Bellatrix and started to unbutton her dress as he admitted,

"Probably not the best idea to take you by Side-Along Apparition immediately after you'd traveled through two weeks of time. For that, I do apologise. Do you feel well in yourself?"

Bellatrix shut her eyes and swayed a bit where she stood, but she nodded. "I'll be all right, My Lord," she insisted.

He slid her dress down over her shoulders and let it pool at her feet. She stepped out of her heels and stared up at Voldemort as the tub filled behind her. He snared his fingers in her hair, feeling for the first time in two weeks the soft caress of her curls on his hands. He couldn't help himself just now; he needed to touch her.

"If we could manage two weeks and seventy-five kilometres," he told her, "I feel relatively confident we can manage the rest. I'll give you a few days to recuperate before we try. And when next we try, it's all or nothing. Either we wind up in a vacuum of time and space, or we wind up home. There will likely not be any in-between."

Bellatrix nodded again, her palms resting on her master's chest. She chewed her lip and mused, "How strange, My Lord, that I was standing before you like this just a few minutes ago, and weeks ago all at once. I wonder… when we go back, will anyone have noticed we were gone?"

"I don't know," Voldemort said honestly. Then he tipped his head and said, "We'll know."

Bellatrix stared at a button on his shirt. She was being unusually still, unusually quiet, and so he pushed into her mind. He'd weaken her further than ever doing this, he knew, but he didn't stop himself. She pulled down all of her defences and let him feel the fear, the concern roiling inside of her. She was afraid that when they went back, he'd never touch her again. She was afraid she'd remember being intimate with him, but that she'd be forced to act the loyal dog she'd been for years.

"A loyal dog," Voldemort repeated aloud, pulling himself from Bellatrix's consciousness. She said nothing and kept staring at the button on his shirt, and he scoffed. "You have never been a _dog_ to me, Bella; you've been a loyal and devoted disciple and a competent soldier. I have… valued you… for quite some time. And of course I shall still touch you, because it pleases me to touch you, and I do whatever pleases me. Do you understand?"

Bellatrix's eyes welled and the tiniest hint of a smile crossed her full lips. "I understand, My Lord."

The taps on the bath had shut themselves off, and a pleasant floral aroma wafted out from the bathroom. Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder at the bath and asked,

"Is that for me, My Lord?"

He shrugged and pointed his wand toward the bath tub. "It is for both of us. It's been a long two weeks, Bella. _Engorgio._ "

* * *

Bellatrix hissed through clenched teeth as she stepped into the bathtub. The water was steaming hot, though as soon as she settled into it, she realised how delightful it felt on her muscles. She shut her eyes and sighed, letting the warmth seep into her very bones. The Dark Lord had widened and deepened the tub, but he was still close by. Bellatrix still had her eyes shut when she felt his hands settle on her ribs to pull her closer. She let him do it, savouring the feel of his wet fingers on her skin. She opened her eyes as she straddled him, her hips floating just above his as she laced her arms around his shoulders. His hands ran up and down her skin under the water, and he grunted a little as he looked her up and down. His eyes lingered for a moment on her chest, and then he said again,

"It was a long two weeks."

Bellatrix licked her lips and said, "It must be very difficult indeed to be such a powerful Dark wizard rendered alone. I look forward, Master, you to being returned to your rightful place in -"

He kissed her then, the water splashing as his hands pulled out of the water and brought her face to his. She moaned against his mouth, against the spicy warm taste of him. When he pulled her away a bit, he said firmly,

"No more talk of going back tonight. It will either happen or it won't; tonight I am in Venice and it is 1924. No more discussion of our own time. Am I understood?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded, feeling slightly confused by the urgency in his tone. Then she understood. He knew things would be inevitably awkward when they got back; he had established relationships and dynamics and so did she. There wouldn't be _this._ There would be no sleeping with their limbs laced together, nor any of the way he was touching her in a bathtub right now. There might be stolen glances and furtive liaisons, but Bellatrix would marry Rodolphus Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort would be the high master of his movement. _This_ was only here, only now.

Very unexpectedly, Bellatrix felt tears well up. She so rarely cried, and so the alien sensation of her vision blurring and her eyes burning made her a little angry. She swiped roughly at her eyes with her knuckles and muttered,

"I'm sorry, My Lord. It's just… I'm just tired, I suppose."

"Do not lie to me," he snapped, reaching for her hands and putting them against his bare, wet chest. He tipped his head a little and whispered, "Do you not trust your master?"

"I do, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, and it was the truth. She did trust him, with her life and more. But she was also painfully aware of reality, and -

"I make my own reality," Voldemort hissed, his low voice echoing off the tile in the bathroom. His hands coursed all over Bellatrix's wet form. He squeezed a little at her right breast, his eyes following his fingers as he informed her, "If I wanted to put a child inside of you, I would do it. If I wanted to gift you the finest emeralds on Earth, I would do it. And if I wanted you dead, I would do that, too."

Bellatrix gasped a little as his hand tightened on her breast. He released her and both of his hands caressed her thighs beneath the water. She could feel the poke of his erection against her body, but he made no move to attend to it. Instead, he sat up a little, sending the water rippling. He kept rubbing at her thighs as he told her,

"I don't want to impregnate you. And I certainly don't want you dead. I'm still undecided on the emeralds, given our last experience with fine jewelry."

He smirked a little, and Bellatrix could not help but smile back. She reached beneath the water and stroked him, eliciting a sharp intake of breath as he choked out,

"You're mine here and you'll be mine wherever we go. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix vowed, brazenly leaning forward to kiss the skin on his neck. She touched her lips there and he groaned softly. Her hand glided around his cock beneath the water, which grew more rigid than ever beneath her touch.

"Out," he barked suddenly, nearly throwing Bellatrix off of him. "Get out of the water."

She was rather afraid she'd offended him, though she couldn't figure what she'd actually done wrong. The Dark Lord stood up quickly, sending water splashing around him as he stepped out of the enlarged tub and snapped again,

"Get out of the bath, Bella."

She did, following him and shivering a little as she glanced around for a towel.

" _Acqua Evanesca. Reducio. Nongravidare._ "

Bellatrix watched in awe as Voldemort cast the three wandless spells in rapid succession. The first Vanished all the soapy water from the bath, leaving it dry. The second spell shrank the tub back to its normal size. And the third was a contraceptive charm that send a vibration through Bellatrix's abdomen.

She marveled again at her master's incredible ability to quickly perform such strong magic without the aid of his wand. It only made her want him more, to see him exhibit his power so definitively. She was wet between her legs now, and not from the bath. She could see that the Dark Lord's member stood at attention. She fully expected him to bend her over the side of the bed or to slam her up against the wall. It was with some surprise, then, that she watched him open the cupboard near the sink and pull out two soft white towels. He handed one to Bellatrix, and as they both dabbed themselves dry, he said quietly,

"Do not bother with pyjamas. Go straight to the bed and wait for me beneath the blankets."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently, folding her towel and hanging it up on the rack. In the bed, she lay on her back and stared at a crack in the plaster ceiling. That was from the way Venice settled so actively, she knew. She could fix it with her wand, but the crack would be back soon enough. She decided to leave the imperfection be.

She turned her head as Voldemort peeled back the blankets. He lay on his back beside Bellatrix and covered them both up, and he joined her in staring at the ceiling. Bellatrix felt a quiver of uncertainty. She didn't know if she should simply climb onto her lord and master and pleasure him, or to wait for him to speak. She wound up just lying there beside him, feeling his hand slither along the sheet and take hers. She closed her eyes and felt as though part of him were flowing into her being through their hands, and vice versa.

He sighed after a long while and finally whispered, "Come here, Bellatrix."

She slid closer to him and propped herself up on one elbow, surprised by the way he pulled her down against his chest. He dragged one of her legs across the front of him, and she realised his cock had gone soft. She breathed in the soapy smell of him, listened to his heartbeat and his breathing, and instinctively drew her fingers over his sparse chest hair.

"Do you love me, Bellatrix?" she heard him ask, and she pulled her head up to look at him.

"Oh, yes, My Lord," she said honestly. Her hand tightened on him a little as she added, "I love you more than anything. I adore your power, your -"

"Perhaps I did not phrase my question properly," Voldemort interrupted rather sharply. "Let me try again. Are you in love with me?"

Bellatrix wasn't sure what the right answer was to that. Her eyes welled again, for the second time tonight, but this time she made no effort to wipe away the shameful tears. She swallowed hard and nodded, her chin moving against her master's chest.

"Yes, My Lord," she told him once more. "I'm in love with you. Will I be killed for it?"  
"No." He shook his head and turned his gaze back up to the ceiling. "Get some rest, Bella. The sooner you recover from all this experimenting, the sooner we can try and go back home."

* * *

 _July 1924_

 _Venice, Italy_

"Right. Have you got everything in that bag?" Voldemort gestured to Bellatrix's leather handbag, and she nodded. She'd changed into the original dress she'd worn when they'd come here - the blousy black peasant dress she'd been wearing at her twenty-first birthday party. She gripped her wand nervously and stared at the feather quill Voldemort had placed on the counter above the sink in the bathroom.

They still weren't sure who had cursed the bracelet in 1972, but Voldemort had pledged to find that out if they were able to successfully return. For now, all they had was knowledge of the means and a profoundly changed dynamic between the two of them. Voldemort eyed the quill on the ledge and spoke to Bellatrix in a quiet, serious voice.

"Whatever happens when I touch this quill, know this, Bella. I shall always be rather more grateful than I'd anticipated for Paris, and for the train, and for Venice. I should never have expected that being forced across time and space might result in genuine happiness, but so it has done. Know that I bear great pride for the Occlumency skills you've practised, for the way I know you'll serve me better now than ever before. I am glad, Bella."

He turned his eyes to her and saw that she was staring up at him, wide-eyed and mute, as determinedly plucky as ever. He grazed his knuckles over her jaw and sighed.

"I am glad all this happened. Know that, no matter what, will you?"

"I will, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. She reached to pull his hand from her face - something she'd have never been bold enough to do when they'd first arrived in this time. She laced her fingers through his and squeezed his hand a little. Voldemort cleared his throat and brushed his wand back and forth over the quill. He could feel magic flowing through his veins, out through his wand, and into the quill as he incanted the ancient, powerful, dangerous spells.

" _Adlocum domus familia Black. Adlocum duodecim Grimmauld Place. Adannis mille nongenti septuaginta duo… Adannis vigesima et prima mensis Septembris. Adlocum domus familia Black. Adlocum duodecim Grimmauld Place… Adannis mille nongenti septuaginta duo. Adannis vigesima et prima mensis Septembris."_

The feather quivered just a little on the ledge, and Voldemort knew that the spells had taken as well as they would do. He sniffed lightly and tucked his wand back into his robes, studying Bellatrix once more. There was no guarantee they wouldn't disappear into an endless void and be shredded to bits by time and space, but they had no better option. He looked at Bellatrix's curls, which she'd lengthened again, at her full lips and her milky skin. He took in her shimmering dark eyes, her narrow waist, her small but round breasts. He thought of her killing the Ministry worker in Paris. He thought of the way her voice sounded when she moaned the words _My Lord._

"I am glad for it all, Bella," he said again, bending to press his lips very gently against hers. Then he reached for the quill, feeling Bellatrix's fingers tighten on his as he did. Suddenly everything went blinding white and fiery, as though blanched flames were licking his flesh. Then a flush of icy cold took him over, and the white light gave way to a stuffy darkness.

They were on the ground, Voldemort realised at once. They were on the carpet in the parlour at Grimmauld Place. He recognised the weave on the rug. He raised his eyes to see Bellatrix blinking quickly and gulping. She looked around and whispered,

"It looks just the same as what we left, My Lord."

"Now, Rodolphus, you be very certain to celebrate Bellatrix's birthdays properly once you're married! I'll be handing the baton over to you. She'll tell you she doesn't care for the pomp and circumstance, but we all know better, don't we?"

"That's my father," Bellatrix breathed, staring at the staircase that led downstairs. Voldemort pressed into the space around him and felt for minds. Cygnus and Druella Black. Narcissa. Orion, Walburga, Sirius, and Regulus Black. Rodolphus Lestrange. They were all there, all of them except for Bellatrix and Voldemort.

"Evidently, we left the room for some reason," he speculated, rising from the carpet and watching Bellatrix do the same. She brushed off her black skirts and nodded up at him.

"Shall we go back down, My Lord?"

"Yes." He made his way from the parlour through the home's main corridor. He was about to walk down the stairs, but something made him pause. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard, and as he turned round and seized Bellatrix's cheeks, he knew he needed one last kiss before everything went back to normal. His hand went to the small of her back as he kissed her. Everyone downstairs was laughing about some joke or another. Finally Voldemort ripped his mouth from Bellatrix's, cleared his throat, and led the way downstairs.

Everyone stood when he entered the dining-room - everyone except for Sirius Black, who was playing with a little enchanted top on the table. It was the first time in weeks that Voldemort had felt real submission from anyone other than Bellatrix, and he could not help but soak it in for a solid moment before sitting.

"Is everything all right, then, My Lord?" asked Orion Black. "We grew a bit concerned when it took so very long."

Voldemort had no idea what Orion Black was talking about, but he'd never divulge that. He shrugged and said offhandedly,

"I needed Bellatrix, not you, Orion. If there's something you should know, I'll tell you."

Orion bowed his head, his plump cheeks flushing scarlet. "Yes. Of course, My Lord."

"Bellatrix, now that you're back, why don't you open your gifts?" Narcissa suggested. Bellatrix flicked her eyes to Voldemort, and he gave her a minuscule nod. This was all very strange. Coming straight back to a party they had left for nearly a month and apparently for just a few moments. It was unnerving.

Bellatrix feigned a grateful expression as she opened one gift after another. A book. A wand holster. A rain cloak. Finally she came to the dark green package with silver ribbon, the one that had held the cursed bracelet. Voldemort sent his mental feelers out but perceived nothing. None of the dread he'd sensed last time was present now. He frowned a little but nodded to Bellatrix as she unfurled the ribbon. Her hands shook visibly as she opened the box, and then she let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Earrings!" she exclaimed, and she hesitated for a half second before pulling a pair of glimmering teardrop emeralds from the box.

"They were once owned by my grandmother, Hesper Black," said Orion. He looked at Walburga, who was not only his wife but his second cousin, and at Cygnus Black III. Then he turned to his niece and said, "Bellatrix, we would be honoured if you might wear them on your wedding day to Rodolphus here. To represent the Black family."

Bellatrix gave a shy little smile to Rodolphus, and a spike of angry possession went up Voldemort's spine. But Bellatrix nodded and put the earrings back into the box.

"I'd love to wear them. Thank you, Uncle Orion."

After that, the party seemed to have reached the natural end of its life. Bellatrix's cousins chatted with Narcissa and her mother Druella. Orion and Walburga Black spoke with Orion, and Bellatrix was absorbed into a conversation with Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and pondered the fact that twenty minutes earlier he'd been in Venice in the 1920s. Nineteen minutes ago, he'd been upstairs kissing Bellatrix for all he was worth.

Now she was smiling up at the boy she was meant to marry. The wide eyes that had always found Voldemort's in their intimate moments were now locked on Rodolphus Lestrange. Voldemort ground his teeth a little and walked with feigned smoothness to the couple. Rodolphus turned and bowed just a bit too low, so low it seemed pathetic.

"Thank you so very much for coming to my birthday party, My Lord," Bellatrix said, and suddenly he could see that her dark eyes were wet. She blinked quickly a few times and added, "Such a silly little occasion for us to be graced with your presence… Master."

Voldemort pursed his lips a little and nodded once. "It is good, sometimes, to relax," he told her, as if he were lecturing a child about behaviour. "It was no trouble to come. Rodolphus."

He turned his attention to the young man who stood beside Bellatrix, studying the boy's hazel eyes and his youthful, handsome face. Voldemort cleared his throat delicately and said in a tight, firm voice,

"If you wish to truly join our ranks, that could be arranged. Sooner rather than later, I should think. Perhaps in a few days."

Rodolphus Lestrange's eyes lit up, and a grin crossed his face. He nodded vigorously and shook a little with excitement as he said,

"Yes, My Lord. Thank you. That would be an honour beyond reckoning."

Voldemort nodded once. He glanced around the room and said loudly enough for all to hear, "Goodbye, then."

There were murmurs of _Good evening, My Lord_ , and a few bows and dips. Voldemort took Bellatrix's hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips as he said plainly,

"Happy birthday, Bellatrix."

It wasn't until he was outside, in the street on Grimmauld Place, that he finally shut his eyes and realised what exactly had happened. Someone - they still were not certain who - had cursed a bracelet and sent Voldemort and Bellatrix hurtling back in time and through space. They'd spent weeks together and had found their way back. And now they were meant to pretend everything was as it had been, for no one else knew anything had happened. But of course, nothing was quite the same at all.

* * *

 _September 24, 1972_

 _Black Estate, Exeter_

Bellatrix sat in the sunroom of her parents' house, the window flung wide open to let in the pleasant air. She'd been reading for hours, a very old novel about a man who murdered his entire village and grew so powerful that the seasons changed at his behest. It was a Dark book, a weathered tome written in ancient script, and Bellatrix loved it. She was so absorbed in the book that she didn't notice the way a small grey owl had come soaring into the sunroom. It wasn't until the owl squawked angrily at her that Bellatrix whirled around, tossing her book down. She gasped quietly when she saw the envelope the bird had placed on the desk before it.

 _Bellatrix,_ it said, and she recognised His writing at once. The owl took off, so Bellatrix knew there must not be a reply expected of her. She tore carefully at the black wax, not wanting to destroy the seal of the Dark Mark her master had placed on the envelope. She pulled out the folded parchment inside, her fingers trembling as she read his words.

 _Bella,_

 _You will not be marrying Rodolphus Lestrange, at least not in the near future. This is not a decision I have reached lightly. However, you are only twenty-one years of age and there is precisely no rush whatsoever to wed you off. Your parents were informed this morning of the news, along with Rodolphus Lestrange and his parents. None of the others involved in this arrangement have questioned my decision, and I certainly expect that you will not question me, either. When the time is right, you may marry him. That time is not now._

 _Once you have finished reading this letter, Apparate to me directly. Shut your eyes and imagine me, and come to my home in Blaize Bailey on the edge of the Forest of Dean. If your mind is as sound as I should like to believe, you will experience no difficulty in finding me._

 _LV_

Bellatrix tried not to drop the letter. She managed to fold it instead and to push it into the pocket of her black tunic. She pulled her wand out and took a very brief moment to ponder what the letter had said. She wouldn't be marrying Rodolphus. Well, fine. She could hardly protest at that. But _why_ wasn't she to marry Rodolphus? It was a fool's errand to speculate, especially regarding the Dark Lord himself. But Bellatrix could scarcely clear her mind of being in a bathtub with him, of losing her virginity to him, of him kissing her when they got back to London as though she were his only source of air. How could she forget all of that? Bellatrix sighed and shut her eyes, following the rest of his instructions. She imagined him, the sharp lines and handsome features of his dark-eyed face. She thought of the place to which she'd been summoned. Blaize Bailey on the edge of the Forest of Dean. Then she Disapparated with a sharp _crack_ , and she was pinched and whirled through the black void for an instant.

When she came to, she was standing before a stately grey house. It was a large, elegant Baroque creation surrounded by swaying green trees and neatly manicured bushes. The place oozed class with its columns and fountains and rolling land. It was smaller than Malfoy Manor, which Bellatrix had visited more than once, but it seemed more tasteful with its understated charm. So this was his home, Bellatrix thought as she climbed the granite stairs up to the front door. Or, at least, this was one of his homes. She thought he probably had at least a few, owing to his position in the wizarding world.

She raised her fist to knock on the front door, but before she could, it began to creak open. The wide wooden door groaned as it moved, giving way to an entry hall of wood-paneled walls and white marble floors. Bellatrix stepped inside and called,

"My Lord?"

"Bella." Voldemort came walking around a corner through a sitting-room with bookshelves and a piano. He cocked up an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "You received my letter, then."

Bellatrix nodded and touched the pocket where she'd put it. The door creaked shut behind her, and she looked around in awe.

"You have a lovely home, Master," she told him honestly, staring for a moment at the stained-glass windows above the huge winding stairs. He sniffed delicately and said,

"You're the only other one I've let come here, Bella. And you're the only other one who knows we left that party the way we really did. Your Occlumency skills are more necessary now than ever."

Bellatrix gulped and nodded. "A good thing, then, that I learned them."

He stared at her for a long moment, for so long that Bellatrix shifted rather awkwardly where she stood. Finally he said, "You killed that witch in Paris without a second's hesitation."

"And I would kill again and again, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him at once, "if it was what you bade me to do."

"I know." He nodded and took a few steps toward her. He brushed his fingertips over her jaw and said, "Rodolphus can't have you yet."

Bellatrix shut her eyes, feeling a little overwhelmed. Suddenly his lips were on hers, and she couldn't stop herself from reaching up to hold his face in her hands. The kiss was brief but deep, so delicious that Bellatrix was left wanting far more. When he pulled away, Voldemort said quietly,

"You'll stay the night, and in the morning you will pack some belongings. You're to move out of your parents' house for the time being and stay here instead. I don't need to give a reason, an explanation, or even the exact location of your home to anybody. I am Lord Voldemort, and if I want easier access to my most loyal soldier, I shall have it."

Bellatrix felt her knees go a little weak. She blinked a few times and tried very hard not to cry. The Dark Lord tipped his head and asked,

"Do you object, Bella?"

"No." She shook her head and whispered the word, thinking perhaps she hadn't been as deferential as she ought to have been. So she bowed her head and said more reverently, "No, My Lord. I do not object at all."

"Good girl, Bella," he mumbled, tipping her face up to his and lowering his mouth again. Just before he kissed her, he whispered in a furtive tone, " _My_ Bella."

* * *

 _September 1972_

 _Blaize Bailey_

"You'll be staying in here, then." Voldemort swallowed hard as he gestured around the bedroom. It was an appropriately heavy bedchamber for the Dark Lord's manor. With its black wood on the walls, a chunky black bed, and emerald green bedding and curtains, it felt vaguely like a Slytherin dormitory. Bellatrix turned round where she stood with a little smile on her face.

"I like it very much, My Lord," she told him, as if that mattered. She seemed unsure of what to do with herself then, so she shrugged and said awkwardly, "Perhaps… the room has been lonely all this time, with no one staying in it."

"I've been staying in it for the last ten years," he told her, reading the surprise on her face as she finally registered they'd be sharing a bed. He was about to scold her that bedrooms weren't sentient and couldn't feel loneliness, but after seven years in a castle like Hogwarts, he couldn't be entirely sure about that. Instead he informed her crisply, "It would be a silly farce to put you in a separate room. If ever I don't want you in my bed, there are others you can take."

Bellatrix blinked, her cheeks going a little pink as she mumbled, "I… I took a Nongravidare Potion, My Lord, a few days ago. I had intended… well, you told me to be very careful with Rodolphus, so…"

"That was wise," Voldemort told her, and it had been. A Nongravidare Potion was the most powerful form of reversible Magical contraception, lasting indefinitely until a fertility potion was taken to counteract it. Something shook inside his chest at the thought of having Bellatrix here, of having called off her wedding to Rodolphus Lestrange so that he could keep her for his own. Voldemort cleared his throat roughly and told her, "Ignatius Prewett informs me that his niece Molly is expecting a child at the year's end. She and her husband are Blood Traitors, and her brothers are known lackeys for Dumbledore."

"Where is she, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked calmly. "I can eliminate her if you allow it."

"As soon as I have information on her possible whereabouts, you're to find and eliminate her, along with the traitor-in-training she bears in her womb."

"With pleasure, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded seriously. Suddenly he felt a rush of want for her, because she was so much more than the others. When he mentioned murder to her, she hardly batted an eye. When she stared at him with her wide dark eyes, there was a fire in them he'd never seen anywhere else. Voldemort shut his eyes and whispered,

"Take your clothes off, Bellatrix."

"Yes, My Lord," he heard her reply. When he opened his eyes, she was untying the sash of her black kimono-style tunic. She peeled it away and lay it on the stout chair near the end of the bed. She reached down to unzip her black combat boots, and once she'd kicked them off, she peeled down her stretch leggings. Then she stood in her black lace bra and matching knickers, and Voldemort had to fight past the thickness in his throat as he croaked out, "Wait."

She raised her eyes to him, her small but round breasts heaving a little as her breath quickened with excitement. Voldemort closed the gap between them and dusted his fingertips over the soft swell of her chest. A strange little sound came from the back of his throat against his will. He put his right hand to the small of her back and pulled her near as he asked,

"Are you very distraught that you won't be getting married?"

"On the contrary, Master," Bellatrix breathed, her full lips shaking a little. "I am privileged by your decision. Being near you is a gift beyond -"

He cut her off with a kiss, unable to keep himself from putting his mouth to hers. He drank her in - the warm taste of the cinnamon on her tongue, the feel of her hands clawing anxiously at his chest. He pushed her backward toward the bed, guiding her down onto the green coverlet. Bellatrix lay on her back then and gazed up at him, and Voldemort admired the way she looked in her black lingerie for a moment.

"For nearly a month, I had no other Death Eaters," he noted, and Bellatrix just stared. He licked his bottom lip and continued, "Since we have returned, I have found the others' sycophantic ramblings to be a bit obnoxious. So do not be like them just now, Bella. Be… be that witch that woke up beside me in Venice, will you?"

In her eyes, he could see that she knew what he meant. He wanted to reign here and now as the fearsome Lord Voldemort, but he also wanted whatever strange dynamic had evolved between them in that other time. And he did want that, more than he cared to admit. Never in his life had he been so profoundly affected by another human, and the sensation was not altogether pleasant. Furthermore, Voldemort liked to consider himself to be in great control of his mind and body at all times. But Bellatrix, through no apparent fault of her own, had seized that control, wrenching it from Voldemort's powerful hands.

He could not keep himself from becoming aroused in times like this, when she lay before him in nothing but black lace. No other witch had ever set his heart racing like Bellatrix did. He'd never felt such exquisite pleasure as when he was buried to the hilt inside of her. Far worse than the physical craving, though, was the way his mind had reacted upon their return. Seeing her smiling up at Rodolphus, perseverating on the inevitable wedding night that would happen… he'd been nearly driven mad in the span of a few hours. And so he'd met with the Lestrange family and with Bellatrix's parents, and he'd explained crisply that both Bellatrix and Rodolphus were needed as soldiers. The wedding could happen in a few years, Voldemort had said, when his power was absolute and unquestioned and both bride and groom could turn their attentions to marriage. Everyone had agreed, though if there had been dissent, Voldemort would have quashed it at once.

And he knew, deep in the marrow of his bones, that Bellatrix would never question him on anything. She was the very definition of loyal, the very picture of devotion. She adored him so ferociously it would have seemed comical in another context. And now, as she lay on Voldemort's bed in nothing but her lingerie, she set fires inside Voldemort that he knew he could not extinguish on his own.

"Out there is a war," Voldemort reminded them both, gesturing vaguely toward the window, "but inside this house it is Paris. It is the Simplon-Orient Express. It is Venice. Am I understood?"

"Oh. Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix's eyes welled as she nodded. Voldemort shut his eyes for a moment, trying and failing to steady his voice as he commanded her,

"Knickers off, then."

He started to attend to his own clothes, peeling off his outer robe and unfastening his waistcoat and white dress shirt. He tossed them into the pile with Bellatrix's clothes and kicked off his shoes as he unbuttoned his trousers. Once he was rid of everything, he stalked to where Bellatrix lay, and he seized her by the waist. He yanked her toward the edge of the bed and shoved her thighs apart. She gasped softly as his fingers glided over her satin folds, and he couldn't help but smirk at the feel of it.

"So wet already," he sneered, his cock pulsing with an aching want. He bent over and brushed his lips over her collarbone, and Bellatrix squirmed. Her back arched a little, and Voldemort whispered against her skin, "How badly do you long for your master, Bellatrix?"

"Mmph… badly, My Lord," she managed in between her shallow breaths. Voldemort swirled his fingers in the dewy warmth around her entrance, feeling a jolt go up his spine as he did. But he managed to keep his voice low and relatively steady as he instructed her,

"You're not to finish until I give you permission."

She moaned in agony as he quickened his fingers, but she nodded and gasped, "As you command, My Lord."

He stood back up and watched her. He started to draw circles on her clit with his thumb, and that triggered another arching of her back. She grasped the blanket in her fists and thrashed her curls against the bed a little as she stammered,

"M-My Lord, if you… if you keep doing that… I'm not… _agh!_ Not sure I'll be able to keep from…"

"Not until I say you can, Bella." Voldemort was thoroughly enjoying this. The pink flush that had started on her cheekbones had leached like ink down her neck and over her shoulders. Her breasts, still ensconced in their black lace prison, rose and fell quickly with each panting breath. Her flat stomach and her hips bucked up against Voldemort's hand, and she was so wet now that his fingers were practically dripping. He twisted his middle and forefingers inside of her, pumping and turning them as his thumb massaged her sensitive nub. His own body was so alive he could hardly contain himself; his cock was painfully erect and his own skin felt hot and tingling.

"Please, My Lord," Bellatrix gasped, her wide eyes looking frightened as she chomped down on her bottom lip. He smiled a bit to himself. She couldn't help it. She was going to finish whether he gave her permission to or not, and then he could punish her for it.

"Not yet, Bella," he warned in the sternest voice he could muster. She whimpered as though she were in pain, her fists pounding the bed helplessly as Voldemort screwed his fingers ever more urgently into her. His thumb flicked back and forth a few times, and then Bellatrix lost control. Her walls clamped around his fingers, and she went still on the bed as she surrendered to her climax. She turned her face against the blanket, her long curls falling over her features as she moaned softly. Voldemort pulled his hand out of her and tried not to shiver as he wiped her fluids on the bed's coverlet. That could be washed later, he thought distantly. For now, he waited until she dared to look at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I told you not to do it," he reminded her, and Bellatrix looked genuinely afraid. He wasn't going to actually hurt her, not over this, but he could scarcely blame her for thinking he might. He'd done far worse to a good many people over far less egregious offences. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Apologise."

Bellatrix's mouth fell open, but she immediately started to pull herself up to kneel.

"Get back down _,_ Bellatrix; I did not tell you you could sit up." Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, and Bellatrix gulped. It took everything he had not to stroke his cock just now. He was so aroused he could hardly think. He managed to tell her again, in a tone that left no room for debate, "Apologise. Explain what you've done and tell me why you're sorry."

"I disobeyed your orders, Master," Bellatrix murmured, trembling where she lay, "and I am truly sorry for it."

"Hmm. You don't sound very sorry," Voldemort noted, and suddenly Bellatrix's face went white.

"I am sorry, My Lord!" she exclaimed, visibly resisting the urge to sit up. "I tried not to finish, but your fingers felt too good; I could not help myself. My body was beyond my weak control, and I was not strong enough to obey you properly. I beg you to punish me as you see fit."

Voldemort's heart began to race, and he struggled to find his voice to tell her, "No further punishment is necessary. Not today. All I want now is my satisfaction. Will you give me that?"

"I shall try, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. "I can only hope my body gives you pleasure in some way."

"Mmm. Good girl." Voldemort took her waist and pulled it to the edge of the bed. He pushed her legs open again, but this time it wasn't his fingers that pressed inside of her. His cock was buried in one fluid thrust, owing to how wet and ready she was. He groaned quietly and began to pump his hips back and forth. It felt good. So good. She was snug and warm around him, and her fingers snared in her own hair as she registered the invasion. Voldemort leaned down and touched his lips very softly to hers, muttering against her mouth, "Tell me how you feel about staying in my house, Bella."

"I'm g-grateful… My Lord," Bellatrix told him. Her breath was warm and sweet on his lips, almost as warm and sweet as the way she felt around his pistoning cock. She continued, "I was… more than a little depressed, you see… when we got back and I realised I'd never be _with_ you again."

"What a foolish thing to assume," Voldemort scolded her. One of his hands settled on the black lace covering her left breast. His other hand joined hers in her hair. His hips ground against hers as he jerked forward again and again, and he moved his lips to her neck. Bellatrix cried out, and he whispered into her ear, "Come again for me, Bella. Do it."

"Oh… _yes_ , My Lord." Bellatrix curled up against his chest, her fingers wrapping around his in her hair. The grinding between their hips grew so intense that Voldemort knew he had only a moment to continue. He latched his mouth onto the skin beneath Bellatrix's ear, knowing and not caring that there would be a mark there. She hissed through her teeth as she came again, less explosively but more deeply this time. Voldemort pushed into her mind with Legilimency, barreling through the foggy grey swamp he encountered. In her present state of mind, he found chaos. Scarlet desire and screaming pleasure and a throbbing sense of love. He pulled out of her mind and put his lips to hers, bruising her mouth with a kiss as he tumbled over his own cliff. His hips stilled against hers, his cock burrowed inside of her as his seed pumped and his body throbbed. Everything was hot and bright for an instant, then pleasant warmth spread through his veins.

"Bella," he heard himself whisper, knowing his voice sounded entirely too affectionate. He couldn't care. He couldn't keep himself from affection, not with Bellatrix. If he had to possess her openly so that no one else could have her, so be it. If he was more vulnerable with his attentions in private, so be it. For her, he was something different than the soulless dictator he was to the others. He was her master, to be certain. There was nothing equal about their relationship. But she was _his_ , and he would not deny himself that reality.

"Clean yourself up in the bathroom down the corridor," he instructed her, rising and stepping away from the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair and sniffed. "I want you downstairs for dinner in twenty minutes."


	5. Chapter 5

October 1972

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

"For Merlin's sake, Winifred! What were you thinking? Crucio!"

Bellatrix watched as a web of crimson light burst forth from Voldemort's wand. Winifred Bulstrode shrieked and convulsed as the red light snared around her. Bellatrix had been the one to bring Winifred in after the witch had confessed to having an affair with Gideon Prewett. He didn't know she was a Death Eater, Winifred had said, and they'd been close at school. Of course, Bellatrix had Stupefied her and brought her straight to the Dark Lord's working offices in Malfoy Manor. Now she stood back as he tortured Winifred. Something about the red light made Bellatrix's heart race. Voldemort finally released the spell and moved to hover over Winifred. His voice was dangerous as he paced around her and snarled,

"You couldn't control your libido enough to keep from fucking a Mudblood-loving blood traitor, a pawn of Albus Dumbledore himself. He is our enemy, and you made him your lover. What does that make you to me, Miss Bulstrode?"

"P-p-please, My Lord," Winifred moaned, saliva drooling from her swollen lips as she crawled pitifully toward Voldemort's shoes. She made a move to kiss them, and he kicked her square in the jaw so that she flew away. Winifred clutched at her jaw and moaned again in agony. Voldemort raised his gaze to Bellatrix and assured her,

"You did precisely the right thing by bringing me this treacherous wench, Bellatrix. And you know what I do to those who betray me."

Bellatrix nodded and said in a proud voice, "You eliminate them, My Lord. Every trace of them."

"So I do," he nodded. "But you have been a good and loyal servant, Bella. Take your reward now. Eliminate her for me. I like to watch."

He said that last bit as though he were speaking of sex, and a shock of desire went straight through Bellatrix's veins. She let out a shaking little sigh and pulled out her wand. She aimed it at Winifred Bulstrode and flashed the Dark Lord a little smile. She turned her attention back to the whining idiot on the ground and said in a smooth murmur,

"Avada Kedavra."

A bright flash of jade green light signaled the demise of Winifred Bulstrode, and then Voldemort flicked his wand and muttered,

"Evanesco."

The corpse Vanished, leaving no trace at all that Winifred Bulstrode had ever existed. Bellatrix felt shaky with excitement as she said to Voldemort,

"I am sorry, My Lord, that some show you such awful disrespect. She didn't deserve to take another breath in your almighty presence."

"Enough." Voldemort shook his head a little and closed the gap between them. He petted at Bellatrix's curls and scoffed quietly. "She was a complete fool to reveal what she'd done in front of you. You're more dangerous than just about anybody. And she ought to have known you'd bring her to me. You are… mine. Aren't you, Bella?"

"In every single way, My Lord," she replied, feeling dizzy as he touched his lips to her forehead. He cleared his throat softly then and said,

"Enough thought about Winifred Bulstrode. It will be common knowledge that she betrayed Lord Voldemort and got her due punishment. Now. Your father is trying to have at least one of his daughters married by year's end."

Bellatrix raised her eyes and asked, "Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy?"

Voldemort nodded. "Your father and Narcissa have come to Malfoy Manor today for lunch with Abraxas and Lucius Malfoy. I'm quite sure their house elf can set two more places for us. Casting the Cruciatus Curse always makes me hungry."

Bellatrix smiled weakly. She'd been in the middle of a light lunch with Winifred Bulstrode, a witch she'd known since childhood, when she'd brought her here to Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix wasn't terribly hungry, but she also wasn't about to reject the Dark Lord's suggestion. So she nodded and walked two paces behind him as he left his office. Halfway down the corridor to the dining-room, Bellatrix could hear lightweight chatter. She heard her sister's tinkling laugh and the smooth voice of Lucius Malfoy as he noted,

"I don't think there would be much doubt that any children of ours would be blond, Miss Black."

"Unless for some reason the poor things inherited frizzy black curls like poor Bellatrix has got," Abraxas Malfoy chuckled. Bellatrix froze, and so did Voldemort. His lips pursed a little, and he growled softly,

"The fool doesn't know how those curls feel inside a fist. How they feel cast across one's chest when the sun rises."

Bellatrix felt the little push of his Legilimency, and even as she let him in, she couldn't stop herself from wondering if she was as ugly as the others said.

"Quite the contrary," Voldemort snapped, wrenching his mind from hers and holding out his forearm. Bellatrix was confused for a moment, until he rolled his eyes and instructed her, "Take my arm as we walk in there."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and threaded her hand around his sleeve. She let him guide her straight into the dining-room, watching the surprise and vague fear on everyone's faces as they flew to their feet.

"My Lord." Abraxas Malfoy bowed and set his napkin down. "May I set you a place for luncheon?"

"Two places, yes," Voldemort droned. Abraxas snapped his finger at the skinny little house-elf in the corner, who began frantically Summoning plates and goblets and cutlery. Voldemort looked around the room and announced, "Not quite an hour ago, Bellatrix informed me that Winifred Bulstrode was engaged in a torrid affair with Gideon Prewett. The girl confessed it herself to Bellatrix."

Narcissa gasped, clapping her hands to her mouth. Lucius Malfoy looked disgusted and shook his head.

"Gideon Prewett. That disgusting blood traitor."

"But you brought the information straight to the Dark Lord, Bella?" Narcissa confirmed. Bellatrix tipped her chin up, her hand shaking on Voldemort's sleeve a little as she said,

"I brought Winifred herself. I wasn't about to let her go after she told me a thing like that. The Dark Lord deserves instant access to all those who defy him. So I brought her straight away."

"And then you executed her," Voldemort said casually. "Wouldn't want to forget the best part."

"She deserved no better, My Lord," Abraxas Malfoy sneered. "She probably deserved worse."

"She deserved precisely what she was given, Abraxas." Voldemort pulled out Bellatrix's chair for her and sat beside her at the head of the table. Roast chicken, asparagus, and fresh bread appeared on the plates before them. As the conversation droned on about things like favourite Quidditch teams and the autumn weather, Bellatrix poked around at her asparagus. When she looked up, Narcissa was staring right at her and said,

"Bella, I need to freshen up. Will you come with me?"

Bellatrix looked to Voldemort on instinct, and he waved his permission to her with one hand as he used the other to eat his chicken with supernatural elegance. Bellatrix rose from her chair with Narcissa, and all the men except for Voldemort rose briefly. Narcissa led Bellatrix out of the dining-room and down the corridor, away from the nosy portraits on the wall and out of earshot of the others.

"You killed Winifred Bulstrode?" Narcissa hissed, grabbing Bellatrix's wrist. "We used to play with her as children!"

"Well, she ought to have known better, Cissy." Bellatrix wrenched her wrist away and sniffed. "Off fucking Gideon Prewett and then bragging about it? Yes, of course when my lord commanded me to eliminate her, I did so. I'll follow him to death or worse, and I certainly hope you can say the same."

Narcissa's face darkened a little. "The wedding to Rodolphus was called off," she whispered. "You're living… somewhere else. The rest of us aren't privy to where. You walked into the dining room on his arm. Are you… are the two of you…?"

"Whatever attentions the Dark Lord deigns to grant me are precisely none of your business, Cissy," Bellatrix insisted. She wished she could tell Narcissa everything, starting with the cursed bracelet and going through Paris and Venice and back again. She softened her face a bit then and assured her sister, "You should be happy for me, and I'll leave it at that. Now… Lucius Malfoy. Do you mean to marry him?"

Narcissa sighed and smiled a little. She nodded. "I think so. Father thinks it's a splendid match for the family, and Lucius and I are fond of one another. We'll make one another happy enough, I think. Have you spoken to Rodolphus since the wedding was called off?"

Bellatrix shrugged. "Saw him at a battle in Scotland last week. He was cordial and pleasant, but we had things to do besides discuss our eventual wedding."

Narcissa chewed her lip. "And you think you will marry him someday?"

"I will do whatever the Dark Lords bids me do, Narcissa." Bellatrix shook her head, astounded at how thick her sister was being. "Why don't you go back into that dining-room and concern yourself with earning a marriage proposal of your own?"

* * *

Voldemort let his hands dance over the piano keys, thunking through the dramatic low chords as his right fingers fluttered through the melody. This scherzo had been one of his favourites as a boy. He'd been notorious at his Muggle orphanage for many things, and one of the only positive traits the others saw in him was his ability to play piano. The orphanage's piano had been a ghastly, out-of-tune monster of a thing, but Tom Riddle had tamed it with ease. For some time, he'd believed his ability to play piano was related to his gift with magic. But throughout his time at Hogwarts, through years spent using the instrument in the Slytherin Common Room to charm his peers, he'd realised this was another gift altogether.

Once the scherzo was done, Voldemort cracked his knuckles a bit and turned round. He could sense her there; he was aware of her mental presence behind him. When he saw Bellatrix standing in the threshold, though, he had to control his reaction. She looked positively beautiful in her black knee-length silk nightgown and floor-length black lace robe. She was a vision in Darkness, standing before him with her fingers combing anxiously through her curls.

"I had no idea you could play so magnificently, My Lord," Bellatrix mused. She began to braid her thick hair over her shoulder, and she smiled a little as she said, "My mother tried to make me learn, once upon a time, but I was stubbornly devoid of any musical aptitude. You make it sound so wondrous."

"Hmm." Voldemort turned back to the piano and sighed, playing a soft and lilting nocturne. He raised his voice just enough for her to hear, his fingers moving smoothly as he spoke. "Your sister was rather a bit too concerned with your personal life today."

"I told her as much, My Lord." Bellatrix moved to stand before him, her eyes nervous as she watched him play. "I told her she needed to worry about herself and trust you as our lord and master."

"I know what you told her," Voldemort said simply. "I watched it all happen through her mind."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded. "Yes. Of course."

"Do you want to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?" Voldemort asked, lowering his eyes to follow his fingers. He played a few gentle chords and let his thumb press carefully on a high note as the nocturne ended. Bellatrix hadn't answered him, so when he raised his eyes to her, he asked again, "Is that what you want? Shall we arrange for a double wedding for Black sisters?"

Bellatrix's face twisted a bit, and she shook her head. "I would beg and plead with you, My Lord, to spare me that fate. But, of course, I shall do whatever you -"

"Enough of that!" Voldemort barked, flying up from the piano bench and seizing Bellatrix's face in his hands. She seemed alarmed by his sudden movements, and he felt her flinch beneath his tightening fingers. He softened his touch and stilled his body as he said far more calmly, "Tell me the truth or I'll fish your head myself, Bella. Do you want to marry Rodolphus Lestrange?"

"No." Bellatrix reached up and covered his hand with hers. She didn't need to say the rest of what she was thinking, and Voldemort didn't need to look into her mind. She wanted to marry him. He sighed and pulled his hands from her cheeks.  
"Lord Voldemort has no wife," he reminded her. "Lord Voldemort will never have a wife. Even if it were fitting for me to do so - and it isn't - I would never be interested in any sort of formal commitment to another person."

Bellatrix nodded. "I know, My Lord. The Dark Mark on my arm is enough."

"It isn't," he said, tipping his head, "because all the rest of them have that same Mark. You want something more from me. Something special that belongs to only you."

Bellatrix shook her head, her eyes welling suddenly. "No, My Lord. I ask nothing more of you. The memories I have from Paris and Venice and here… I could never want anything else, and in any case, I've not earned anything else."

"Haven't you, though?" Voldemort wondered, more to himself than to her. He cupped her jaw in his hand and felt a stab of something unidentifiable shock from her flesh through his. He studied her lips and her pale skin and her eyes, and he noted, "You've killed for me, more than once, without the slightest hesitation. I daresay you enjoy it, Bellatrix. You enjoy the sensation of power, of hurting, of Darkness. I think more fondly of you than I ought to. I already know that. And every single day I wonder… how many more days until I hand her over? How many more days until she moves from my house to Rodolphus Lestrange's? And every day, I tell myself… not today."

Bellatrix's bottom lip was shaking and her eyes were gleaming with tears about to be shed. Voldemort watched as one tear and then another finally boiled over and cascaded down her alabaster cheeks. He used his thumb to brush away the tears, his voice sounding hollow and distant as he told her again,

"Lord Voldemort has no wife. You must… understand."

"I understand," she promised him. Something inside him still itched, a frustrated sense that he had not yet said what needed to be said. He snarled with a bit of irritation and finally declared, "I'll come up with something."

She shook her head, obviously confused, and Voldemort barked, "Something to mark you more specifically as mine. More… exclusively mine. In a way none of the rest of them are. You understand?"

"I understand," she said again, but this time her breath shook and her eyes fluttered shut.

"Go… sit on the sofa over there." Voldemort pulled his hands from her and gestured vaguely across the parlour. "I'm not finished playing yet."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix silently moved away, and Voldemort did not watch her. He sat back down on the piano bench and began to hammer out an angry, swaying march on the piano.

* * *

November 1972

Blaize Bailey

Voldemort scribbled away at a letter to Abraxas Malfoy, formally affirming that he would be present at the wedding of Narcissa Black to Abraxas' son Lucius. It would be in good form, he knew, to attend the celebration uniting two of his most committed Pureblood families. To be certain, he was busy these days, with his overthrow of the Ministry edging nearer by the day. Aurors and Dumbledore's allies were being captured regularly, with valuable information extracted through interrogation. Some were Obliviated or disfigured and released live back to strike fear into the rest of the wizarding world. Others were used as bartering chips in retrieving captured Death Eaters. Most were killed. Just last week, the editor for the Daily Prophet had been Imperiused and was now compelled to publish some positive materials about Lord Voldemort. Though the war raged viciously, it raged in Voldemort's favour these days. He had little to trouble him, but that didn't stop him from being troubled.

"My Lord?"

He looked up to see Bellatrix standing in the threshold of his office, having changed out of leather-and-stretch black battle clothing she'd used the night before. She'd burned down a row of Muggle houses and had cast the Dark Mark before dawn as an intimidation tactic. It was already working; Voldemort's copy of the Prophet this morning had declared the incident to be both a terror and a show of force.

"An owl just arrived, My Lord, with this letter for you." Bellatrix took a few hesitant steps into the office and handed over an envelope. Once Voldemort read the text on the envelope, he could see why Bellatrix was nervous.

To the man who was once Tom Riddle, it said. Voldemort quickly tore open the red wax seal and pulled out the parchment inside. The script was a little spindly, as if a shaky hand had written it.

I searched for nearly fifty years, but I never did find it. - Aloysius da Chioggia

Voldemort scoffed in disbelief. When he saw Bellatrix's confusion, he passed her the letter, and her wide eyes went completely round as she read it. Her eyebrows went up as she lowered the letter.

"He's still alive."

Voldemort shrugged. "What does it matter? I'm very certain Dumbledore was behind the initial curse. He wanted to get rid of me. I think it was through you cousin Sirius that the object was planted. But the bracelet disappeared after it was used, just like every other object we used to experiment. We didn't need it to get back and we don't need it now. Dumbledore didn't count on us being able to cycle back to the point just before the bracelet was given to you."

"Then he greatly underestimated you, My Lord," Bellatrix said firmly.

"Many have done so before, and many will do it in the future," Voldemort nodded. "They all learn."

Bellatrix set the letter down on Voldemort's desk, and he sighed as he aimed his wand at the parchment. When he Vanished it, he felt a little spark of relief. He blinked a few times and reached for a small leather box on his desk. He held it up and said to Bellatrix,

"I've got something for you. Go ahead and open it."

She looked like she was bottling up excitement then, her dark eyes shimmering as her trembling fingers wrapped around the little box. She opened it and gasped.

Suddenly all Voldemort could see was her eyes reflecting fire from the houses she'd set ablaze. All he could smell was the campfire aroma left over the night before, the way they'd both been too exhausted to do anything but clean themselves up and revel in the destruction. And when he thought of all that, he felt a sharp pang of possession.

"Do you like it?" he asked her, and Bellatrix swiped tears from her eyes as she nodded fervently.

"Oh, yes, Master," she said. She pulled the ring from its box and promptly dropped it from how hard her hands were shaking. It rolled away, and she made a tortured whimpering sound as she dropped to her knees to find it. Voldemort rose from his chair and chuckled under his breath.

"Accio ring," he mumbled, and it came soaring from the ground to his hand. He studied it again as Bellatrix flew up from the floorboards. It was a white gold band lined with small diamonds. Nested upon the top was a square perimeter of small onyx stones, and in the centre was a square emerald. The ring was neither oversized nor glittering, but it certainly made a statement. Voldemort took Bellatrix's quivering left hand in his and pushed the ring onto her fourth finger. It was the finger usually reserved for engagement rings, and though this was no engagement ring, he was indeed claiming her.

"It is a vintage piece," he said matter-of-factly. "It comes from Paris; it was crafted by a wizarding jeweler in 1922."

"Oh," Bellatrix breathed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she studied the ring. The fingers of her right hand ghosted around the piece, and she managed to whisper, "Th-thank you, My Lord."

"Don't overthink this," Voldemort commanded her. "I'm hardly proposing marriage."

She nodded and brought the ring to her lips. "For exactly what it is, My Lord, it means more than I can say."

"You needn't say anything; I know what it means." He struggled then not to drag her upstairs and kiss every inch of her. It was what his body wanted. More than that, it was what his mind wanted. He settled for touching his lips to hers, once and fleetingly, and he cleared his throat as he reminded her,

"Your sister's wedding is in a few days."

"Yes, My Lord." She wiped the last few tears away and steadied her face. "I'm her attendant."

"Oh. Yes. That… makes sense." Voldemort gnawed on his bottom lip, suddenly overwhelmed with the idea of her dancing, of her dressed up again like she'd been on the Simplon-Orient Express. He shut his eyes for a moment and insisted on impulse, "You're not to dance with Rodolphus Lestrange at the wedding."

Bellatrix nodded but asked, "What shall I tell him, My Lord, if he asks me to dance?"

Voldemort squared his jaw. "You show him your left hand and remind him that you're not his yet. Now… go. I've business to attend to."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix bowed her head respectfully, which only triggered a desire on Voldemort's part to tip her chin up and kiss her again. This time, he went slowly. He nibbled on her bottom lip and dragged his tongue over the roof of her mouth after a while. He tasted her, letting his tongue swirl against hers. His hands moved of their own accord to her waist, then up her ribcage and to her breasts. Through the thin materials of her blouse and bra, he could feel that her nipples had gone hard, and he grunted. Suddenly he found himself hoisting Bellatrix by her waist and turning, setting her down on his desk. She started to hike up her skirt, a question in her eyes, and Voldemort nodded.

He moved very quickly then, unfastening his trousers as he kissed her again. He was more rough this time, taking a fistful of her curls and yanking her head back so he could move his mouth to her neck. He used his other hand to wrench aside her knickers and line himself up with her. His hand went to the small of her back and pulled her against him. He groaned as he felt her body envelop him, and his mouth grew more urgent on the delicate flesh of her neck. He pumped his hips quickly, knowing he'd have no time at all when it felt this good. She was warm and wet and tight and soft around his cock. Her hair was marvelous in his fist, and when he kissed her mouth again, she tasted like honey. She whined a little as her body tensed, and when she snapped and came, she panted against Voldemort's lips. He touched his forehead to hers and let their breaths mingle as his own climax took him over. He pumped his seed into her and let the pleasant heat flush through him.

For a moment, he stayed like that - one hand holding her hair and the other holding her back, buried inside of her as he started to go soft, their faces a breath away from one another. It felt good, better than almost anything had ever felt. And when Bellatrix's left hand settled on his cheek, Voldemort felt the cold metal of the ring he'd put on her.

"Don't dance with Rodolphus Lestrange," he said again, and she shook her head slowly.

"Of course not, My Lord."

"You're only to dance with me, and only if it's something I decide to do," he added. Now she nodded.

"It would be an honour," she assured him, "but if I go the entire evening without dancing, I shall be just fine."

"Good girl, Bella." he kissed her again, very softly now, and his hands left her so he could tuck himself away. He stepped back as she slid off the desk, and he said for the second time, "I've work to do."

"I shan't disturb you, My Lord," she promised. "I'd only wanted to bring you that letter. Thank you again for the ring. I can have dinner ready in a few hours, if you'd like."

"Yes." Voldemort nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes. Dinner would be nice."

* * *

November 1972

Malfoy Manor

"Good evening, Bellatrix."

She looked up to see Rodolphus Lestrange holding out a flute of champagne for her, which she accepted as he sat beside her.

"Thank you, Rodolphus," she nodded. "Enjoying the fete, then?"

"I am, but…" Rodolphus gestured vaguely toward Bellatrix's face and looked a little concerned. "How'd you get that black eye?"

"Oh. Is it still that obvious? Damnation. Poor Cissy; I'll be all banged up in her photographs." Bellatrix touched at the tender spot that ran halfway up her forehead and down almost to her jaw. She sighed and informed Rodolphus, "Wrong end of a Blasting Curse yesterday in Cardiff."

His eyebrows went up. "Cardiff? I heard that got nasty."

"You could say that." Bellatrix winced as she remembered the hunks of concrete competing for airspace with the green and blue and red lights of curses. She'd taken both the magic and the detritus of a Blasting Curse when she'd been too distracted by the act of torturing an Auror. Now she smiled a little at Rodolphus and assured him, "We won the battle, so I can certainly deal with a smashed face. You should have seen it yesterday before I got fixed up."

Rodolphus seemed impressed. He raised his champagne glass to Bellatrix and said, "It's obvious why the Dark Lord wants you focused on warfare and not on… on marriage." His eyes went to her left hand, to the ring finger where her onyx-and-emerald ring shone, and he asked rather awkwardly, "Has someone else…?"

"No," Bellatrix said firmly. "It was a gift."

"Oh." Realisation seemed to come over Rodolphus' face, and though he looked a little abashed, he nodded and said, "You do look lovely tonight, Bellatrix. Nobody wears black quite like you."

"Well, it's in the name," Bellatrix teased. "Thank you, just the same. Enjoy yourself."

"And you," Rodolphus said. He seemed to think he shouldn't linger too much more, for he rose and bowed his head crisply to her before walking away. Bellatrix smoothed the raw silk skirts of her long black gown and thought it was rather a nice confection. But she was self-conscious now about the bruising on her face. She had half a mind to stand up on a table and explain to everyone that she'd earned the injury fighting for the Dark Lord, that it wasn't as though she had some unsightly pimple.

"Bella."

When she looked up this time, it was not Rodolphus Lestrange standing over her table, but the Dark Lord himself. He adjusted his bow tie and said, "Leave your champagne and come dance with me."

"Thank you, My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, rising and threading her arm through his. Narcissa was swirling about with Lucius, her vibrant white taffeta gown billowing elegantly about her. Others were on the dance floor - Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, Bellatrix's parents, the Averys and the Macnairs and a few awkward-looking teenagers. All eyes glanced briefly at Bellatrix and Lord Voldemort as he wrapped his arm around her. Then everyone went back to the business of their own dancing. They knew better than to gape and stare at the Dark Lord.

Bellatrix couldn't help but smile up at him as his fingers wrapped around hers and his palm pressed against her back. She moved with him to the slow two-step being played by the hired string players and pianist. But he did not smile back down at her; his mouth curled down into a scowl and his greying brows furrowed.

"I am irritated," he noted.

"Have I angered you, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked nervously, and he huffed,

"It's that damned black eye of yours."

"Oh." Bellatrix felt more self-conscious than ever as she ashamedly noted, "We tried butterfly weed balm, My Lord. We tried all manner of healing potions and spells. I'm not sure why it isn't fading quickly. I apologise… for… being ugly."

Voldemort rolled his eyes and spat, "Stupid girl. It isn't ugly; it is a battle wound you took whilst fighting for me. I hardly begrudge you the bruising, but I do not care to see it. It looks as though… it looks rather like you've been punched is all."

Bellatrix was confused. She'd taken a chunk of concrete to her face, and it had shattered her eye socket and jaw. The magic from the curse had ricocheted and smacked her in the same spot. It wasn't surprising that whilst most of the physical injury had been healed up, the remnants would take some time to fade. If it looked like Bellatrix had been punched, why was that any worse than -

"I did not punch you in the face, and I have no immediate intention of doing so," Voldemort hissed through his teeth abruptly. "It displeases me to see you marked up as though someone took a fist to you. I do not need to explain myself further."

Bellatrix felt her cheeks go hot. "I am sorry, My Lord. I wish I could make it go away. I've tried. I hope that over the next few days, it gets better."

"If it isn't markedly better in two days' time, you'll be meeting with Healer Savery about it, and I'll hear no more on the matter," Voldemort sniffed. The song ended and another began, so they adjusted the pace and size of their steps as Bellatrix tried to change the subject.

"How did you find the food, My Lord?"

He cocked up an eyebrow. "Spaghetti with clams is hardly a traditional wedding dish."

Bellatrix smirked a little. "You're right, My Lord. It isn't traditional, and I had to fight Narcissa a little to have it on option. Just the same, I do hope you enjoyed it."

"You didn't cook it," he observed, glancing away from her for a moment. "You used more white wine when you cooked it."

In Paris. In 1924. That was the part they both had to leave out, the part neither of them could discuss with anyone else.

"My Lord, have you any intention of meeting with Signor da Chioggia in this… you know, here?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort sighed a bit.

"I do," he admitted, "but only because he knew who I was. And he sent a letter rather quickly after our return. I need to ensure he's not involved in any capacity beyond what we already know. I can scarcely go about my life in trepidation that any given object may be laced with Gnavigo Charms prepared to hurtle me around time and space. A reliable return is hardly guaranteed. But, in any case, that is a discussion for a far more private venue."

"Ah. Of course, My Lord. I'm sorry," Bellatrix mumbled.

"Stop doing that." Voldemort's feet hesitated mid-step, and he frowned deeply down at Bellatrix. "Stop apologising for everything. I'm surrounding by sycophants, Bella, but you're the witch from Venice, and I don't ever want you forgetting that. Or isn't the ring reminder enough?"

Bellatrix felt her heart race a little, and she licked her dry bottom lip as she nodded. "It is more than enough, My Lord."

His face shifted a little then. His angry expression softened just a little, and he said in a quiet voice, "Any more than two dances is downright indecent, and there are but a few moments until this song ends. So I'm just going to stare at you for a while."

He did precisely that, his dark eyes feeling physically penetrative as his gaze went up and down Bellatrix's form. Finally he said in a low, furtive voice,

"As of tomorrow morning, more than half of all Ministry workers will either be directly loyal to me or Imperiused to do my bidding. The fall of the Ministry grows ever nearer. I know I can rely upon you to be with me on that glorious day, Bella, but can I rely on you to tow the others along? Will you torture and kill whomever you must to make my reign manifest?"

"Of course, My Lord," Bellatrix breathes. "I will do whatever you ask and whatever is needed. Anything. Forever."

"You say it so innocently, as if you were delicate as a flower," Voldemort mused, his hand tightening on her back. He bent and whispered into her ear, "But I know much better."

He stood up straight then, and his eyes found someone behind Bellatrix for an instant. When he looked back at Bellatrix, he said,

"If it weren't for that cursed bracelet, you'd be going back home with Rodolphus Lestrange. Instead, you'll be coming home to Blaize Bailey with me. What does that mean, I wonder?"

The song ended, and Bellatrix felt a rip in her chest at the physical separation as her master stepped back from her.

"I suppose it means we have at least one thing to thank Dumbledore for… My Lord." She hoped Voldemort wouldn't slap her clear across the face for saying such a thing. He didn't. Instead he raised her knuckles to his lips, kissed her there for a second, and said quietly,

"I'll figure a way to get rid of that black eye. After all, you did fight one hell of a battle, Miss Black. Good evening."

She watched as he stalked away, unable to keep herself from smiling where she stood.


	6. Chapter 6

November 1972

Blaize Bailey

Voldemort stared out the window of his library, nursing his second gin and tonic of the night. He watched the spot in the drizzly garden where Bellatrix always appeared when she Apparated here. He's summoned her to Blaize Bailey via her Dark Mark as soon as he was sure his potion had turned out correctly. She'd been having dinner with her sister and new brother-in-law. Voldemort didn't care; he was in no mood to wait.

She appeared in the garden as a black blur in the cloudy night, disappearing from view as she hurried toward the house. Voldemort sipped at his gin and tonic as he heard the door open and shut downstairs.

"In the library," he called simply, and then he heard Bellatrix's feet pattering on the wide, winding stairs. Her footsteps were light and quick coming down the corridor, and then she appeared in the doorway of the dimly-lit library. Voldemort beckoned her inside, wincing a bit to himself at the awful sight of how her bruises had gone blacker than ever.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, bowing her head and making the injury more obvious than ever. He contemplated apologising for pulling her away from her dinner, but she'd know it was a lie, so he didn't bother. Instead he sipped on his drink again and then mused,

"Most bruises and superficial injuries are quite easily with a bit of butterfly weed balm. At worst they need healing spells or potions. Very obviously, the magically-induced injury you suffered is not going away with ordinary measures."

"I am sorry, My Lord," Bellatrix murmured. It had to have been the hundredth time she'd apologised for the black eye and bruised cheekbone. Voldemort put his lips into a line and snapped,

"It's a damned battle wound, Bellatrix. I've half a mind to let you wear it with honour instead of fixing it." He watched her lips curl up a little, and he set his gin and tonic down on the small table before him. He picked up the small red glass bottle he'd set down earlier, and he held it up to show Bellatrix. "This is Melioris Potion. After some research with a few old potions texts, I was able to track down the old recipe. If it doesn't work, I'm not sure what will, but seeing as the text specifically mentioned Blasting Curses, I think you'll be all right. I don't brew potions often, but once upon a time, I was the best potioneer in Slytherin."

"I believe it, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. "I'm sure you were magnificent in all your subjects."

He could have told her about how he'd been Head Boy, how Horace Slughorn had been convinced of his future success. But that had been the life of Tom Riddle, and that life was over now. Voldemort cleared his throat delicately and said,

"I'm confident it will work, but with a strong potion come strong side effects."

Bellatrix looked mildly alarmed. "What sort of side effects, Master?"

He picked up his gin and tonic and swigged the rest of it down, his head swimming a little as he told her what lay in store for them both. "The Melioris Potion will send your body's healing and well-being capabilities into overdrive, so you'll experience a very high energy level, an elevated and euphoric mood, and probably hypersexuality."

Bellatrix's dark eyes went round and her cheeks went pink. "I apologise in advance if I make a fool of myself."

"Don't worry, Bella," Voldemort smirked. "I mean to keep you in line. And neither of us has anything substantial planned for tomorrow. Here. Drink the whole dose, then."

Bellatrix approached him and took the little red bottle from his hand. She pulled out the stopper and paused, staring down into the Melioris Potion.

"Thank you, My Lord," she said rather reverently. "You are far more merciful than I deserve."

Voldemort felt an uncomfortably strong emotion toward her then. He didn't like her face bruised up, so he was fixing it. It really was as simple as that. He cleared his threat. "Drink the potion, Bella."

She did, knocking it back and pulling a face at the bitter flavour. She set the red glass bottle back down as she spluttered a little. Voldemort walked over to his rolling drinks cart and put some ice and water into a tumbler for her. She drank it gratefully, and once she'd cleared the bitterness from her mouth, she asked,

"When can I expect the side effects, My Lord?"

"No idea," he admitted. He took a step toward Bellatrix and, wanting a better look at the injury he was trying to heal, murmured, "Lumos."

The tip of his wand illuminated, and as he held it up, Bellatrix's milky face was bathed in a gently pulsing, bluish light. Voldemort couldn't help but smile a bit then. He watched as the awful purple and grey splotches began to fade. On instinct, he brushed his knuckles along Bellatrix's forehead, down around her eye socket and over her cheek.

"It's working," he said softly, in far too tender a voice. It must have been the gin and tonic making him touch her and speak to her this carefully, he thought. Yes, he thought as he lowered his lips, he'd had entirely too much gin. He'd made his drinks too strong. That was what he told himself as he touched his lips to Bellatrix's cheek, eliciting a little whimper from her.

Her breath quickened a little, and that only got worse when Voldemort said, "Nox," and set his wand down on the table. He pulled Bellatrix closer, and even in the dim light, he could see that the terrible bruising was almost completely healed. He pushed a curl from her face and said, "Much better."

Outside, the light drizzle from earlier had turned into an abruptly arrived downpour. Frigid rain lashed the windows, and Voldemort's eyebrows went up at the sudden rain.

"I want to go play in it," said a quiet voice from beside him. Voldemort frowned down at Bellatrix, who stared at him with wide eyes and dilated pupils. She giggled softly and said again, "I want to go out into the rain. Please, My Lord? Please?"

There were the side effects, then. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said with all the patience he could muster,

"It's nearly winter, Bellatrix. That rain is freezing cold."

"I don't mind, My Lord!" she called over her shoulder, starting to dash from the library. Voldemort knew he couldn't overwhelm the side effects of this potion; the text he'd found had warned about the symptoms' strength. He followed Bellatrix with smooth, long strides as she trotted happily through the corridor and down the stairs. She laughed as she flung the heavy front door wide open, and Voldemort stood in the threshold, saying in an almost paternal voice,

"Mind the stairs, then."

She paid him no heed, merrily leaping down the steps and immediately twirling in a circle with her arms outstretched. She tipped her pretty face up to the heavens and laughed as the cold rain caresses her skin.

She looked very beautiful just now, Voldemort thought. She was young and fearless, and she looked that way now. She raked her fingers through her wet curls and then started to touch her own breasts through the thin material of her knee-length black dress. Her fingers played with her nipples, which were visibly hard even in the dim light afforded by the lamps outside. When she moaned into the rain, Voldemort gulped and gripped the door jamb. When one hand started to edge up the bottom hem of her dress, he tried to call her name and failed.

So he just watched as she stood there in the freezing rain, shivering and touching herself with one hand on her own breast and the other between her legs. Voldemort felt his cock go absolutely rigid in his trousers, and his hand tightened so hard on the doorway that it hurt.

"Mmm… oh, My Lord." Bellatrix lowered her face to look at him, and in the low light he could see the way her full lips were parted, the way her heavily-lidded eyes were half-closed, the way her chest heaved. She had one hand down the front of her knickers, and she might have looked obscene and ungraceful to anyone else. But for Voldemort, it was too much to endure.

His cheeks were burning hot as he stepped out into the rain, and the cold water was a sweet relief. He ran quickly down the steps and picked Bellatrix up in one smooth motion, catching her under her short legs with one hand and resting the other on her back.

She yelped with surprise and laughed like a maniac as he carried her back up the steps. Her fingers left her own body and went up to Voldemort's cheeks. He said nothing and stared straight ahead. Once they were back inside the foyer, he knew they were both dripping water everywhere, but he couldn't care. That was easily cleaned up.

He could take her upstairs and play with her for a while, Voldemort thought. He could make her use her mouth on him. He could do the same to her. Then he decided there was time enough for all of that later. Right now he wanted her, plainly and simply.

So he slammed the front door shut and set Bellatrix on the ground, backing her up as her fingers flew to the placket of his trousers. She panted up at him as she pulled her knickers down and tossed them away. She shivered as she backed up against the door. Rainwater poured past her jaw, down her neck, and into the swell of her breasts. It was too much. Voldemort wrenched his trousers down a little and seized Bellatrix by the waist.

The next few moments seemed to fly by. Suddenly her legs and arms were wrapped around him and her voice was keening as he pumped himself into her. The front door banged a little every time he pushed her against it, and for some reason Voldemort quite liked the sound. He soaked in the feel of her chest smashed against his, of her fingers between his shoulder blades and her ankles crossed behind his back. When he came, it was warm and pleasant and too brief. When she came a moment later, she tipped her head back against the door and moaned over and over,

"My Lord… My Lord…"

When he finally set her down, he decided he was going to milk her side effects for all they were worth. He'd use a Girding Potion for himself if he had to. He'd take her on the rug in the upstairs corridor. He'd take her on his office desk. He'd take her in their bed.

Then he realised she would always let him do all of those things. She didn't need to be giddy from a potion to want him; she always wanted him. And, anyway, as she stood with her back against the door staring up at him, he could tell the euphoria from the Melioris Potion had been extremely short-lived. The crazed look in her gaze was gone. Fortunately, so were the bruises.

"All better," Voldemort murmured, running his fingers over her damp face. She smiled and pressed her palm against his shirt, which was soaked through.

"Thank you, My Lord," she said. Her eyes, no longer wild, now bore something so deep and significant that Voldemort almost had to look away. He swallowed hard, took a step back from her, and noted,

"You could do with a warm shower after that, probably. We both could. You use the one down here."

He gestured down the corridor to the main level bathroom, and he wordlessly headed up the stairs.

* * *

December, 1972

Kinnloch Hourn, Scotland

"When do you suppose he'll arrive, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked. She brushed some snow from her heavy velvet cloak and wished to herself that they'd been able to meet with their visitor somewhere other than the wintry Scottish Highlands. But she understood; Lord Voldemort could not show his home in Blaize Bailey to an untrusted wizard, and nobody else but Bellatrix knew of the time travel.

"If he can follow instructions, he should be arriving by Portkey any moment now." Voldemort shut his eyes and tipped his head back a bit, letting the snow fall into his greying hair. He seemed to be breathing in the winter, savouring it, and Bellatrix could not help but stare. Then he lowered his face and stepped away from the stone wall against which he'd been standing. He jerked his chin down the narrow path that led from the small settlement. "Here he is now."

Bellatrix watched as a wizened old man using a walking stick made his way up the rocky path toward them. She studied the man's face and had to stifle a gasp. Forty-eight years of time had etched countless deep lines upon him. His eyes had sunken in a little. His hair had gone thin and white. But this was most definitely the same Aloysius da Chioggia she'd met in Venice.

"Signore Riddle," da Chioggia greeted as he approached sounding out of breath. He stopped before them, leaned heavily onto his walking stick, and pushed up a white eyebrow as he mused, "But you don't go by that name anymore. Signorina Black…" He turned his attention to Bellatrix, his dark eyes glinting as he smiled and nodded. "As lovely as I remember."

"How did you know who I was?" Voldemort demanded without any greeting. Da Chioggia shrugged.

"When I met a young man in the 1940s - a young man called Tom Riddle - I admit I was puzzled. But that young man acted and carried himself just like another Tom Riddle I'd once known. Then that young man became Lord Voldemort and started to resemble the man whose female associate had so lovingly called him Master."

"You waited so long to contact me," Voldemort noted, and da Chioggia said wryly,

"If I'd reached out to you in the 1960s, you may have never gone back. Then who knows what might have happened? I told a lie in my letter, I'm afraid. I did find that bracelet. I found it in 1955 in a shop in Rome. I kept it and I delivered it to Miss Black's birthday party in September."

Bellatrix felt her eyebrows furrow, and she snapped, "You sent us back? Why?"

"Because, my dear signorina," da Chioggia said warmly, "it had already happened. Who am I to speculate about why it happened at all?"

Bellatrix thought back to the way she and her lord had grown so much closer in every way during their time in the past. She'd become his pet; he'd become her lover. If there was some sort of predestined reason why that had been necessary…

"You know I have to kill you." Voldemort said those words with full confidence in a flat voice. Bellatrix's eyes went wide and flicked between the two men. Da Chioggia shut his eyes and nodded, a preternatural peace coming over him.

"Sono vecchio. I am an old man," da Chioggia said, "and I do not fear death. Just the same, I put off this meeting for a reason. Si, signore. I realise that the fearsome Lord Voldemort can not have someone like me walking about with the knowledge I have. I beg you make it quick."

Voldemort cleared his throat and raised his wand. Bellatrix felt her heart race as da Chioggia shut his eyes again. The Dark Lord's wand did not shake at all as he said smoothly, "Grazie, Signor da Chioggia. Avada Kedavra."

* * *

December, 1972

Blaize Bailey

"I'll be going to bed early tonight, Bella," Voldemort said as he stepped through the threshold of his grand house. Bellatrix trotted in after him and shut the enormous door. Voldemort said over his shoulder, "I've not slept well these past few nights."

"I know, My Lord," Bellatrix said quietly. She'd noticed his insomnia by way of being awakened beside him as he tossed and turned. Whether he'd been anxious about the impending meeting with da Chioggia or whether he had another reason for not sleeping, she didn't know. It wasn't any of her business, anyway.

They stepped into the kitchen, and Voldemort began flicking his wand and murmuring a few food preparation spells. Bellatrix watched as a large tin of beef soup flew from a cupboard, opened itself, and doled itself into two bowls. Voldemort murmured a heating spell at the bowls and reached into the bread basket for a few rolls. He opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons, and he murmured,

"Don't just stand there; pour some red wine."

"Of course, Master." Bellatrix dashed to the rack of red wine bottles across the kitchen and selected a Merlot. She set the bottle to uncorking itself as she pulled two glasses from a cupboard. She followed Voldemort into the dining room and set a glass of wine beside his soup. She started to walk to the other side of the table to sit, surprised by the way her master used his wand to pull out her chair for her. All Bellatrix could do as her cheeks went hot was to whisper, "Thank you, My Lord."

"I did not relish killing him," Voldemort said suddenly, and Bellatrix paused with her spoon near her mouth. Aloysius da Chioggia, he meant. He continued, "He seemed like an intelligent and cunning man, and if I'd been able to carefully Obliviate him, he could have proven himself a useful ally. But he knew too much; he's known too much for almost fifty years."

Bellatrix's hands trembled as she asked the question that had been eating at her mind since they'd left Scotland. "Do I know too much, My Lord?"

He stared at her for a moment across the table and shook his head. He dipped his bread into his soup and said carefully. "It is not the same at all. My expectations for you and my standards of behaviour around you are unique. Whether that is wise or not, I have no interest in examining."

They ate in silence for a while then, until Bellatrix finally asked, "Do you think it was inevitable, My Lord?"

"Going back?" Voldemort Banished their empty bowls to the kitchen to wash themselves and nodded. "Yes. It would seem so. I do not wish to dwell on the subject further. Let us discuss something else."

"What did you have in mind, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked.

He shrugged and said lightly, "Christmas. Tell me about Christmas."

Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk. She sighed and leaned onto the table. "Well, I suppose I'll have to go to my Grandmother Irma's dreadful family Christmas party. This will be the first year that Narcissa's married to Lucius, so I'll have to decide whether to buy them separate gifts or a joint gift. I've no idea what Lucius might like, so -"

"A silver-nibbed self-inking quill," the Dark Lord interjected. When Bellatrix frowned at the oddly specific suggestion, Voldemort clarified, "I saw it in his mind the other day. He used to have one, but it's lost and he'd like a new one. Go to Scrivenshaft's; he'll have a good one. The next time I see Lucius, I shall Cofound him into forgetting about the quill until Christmas."

Bellatrix grinned, feeling a swell of awe and affection for her master then. "How wonderfully helpful, My Lord. Thank you."

"And you?" Voldemort drummed his fingers on the table. Bellatrix shook her head in confusion, and he rolled his eyes as he clarified, "What do you want for Christmas?"

Bellatrix gulped. Surely he didn't mean… she would never be worthy of a gift from him, after all. She fingered the ring he'd given her and realised that he'd already gifted her something very significant. Her cheeks went hot as she insisted,

"Spending time in your presence is more than I could ever -"

"Either you tell me or I retrieve it myself. Your Occlumency skills are good, but not that good," Voldemort teased. He beckoned over to her with one finger, and Bellatrix scurried around the table. She stood before his chair and tried not to gasp when his hands ran slowly up and down her ribcage. He gave her a rather serious expression given that they were discussing Christmas presents. "Tell me, Bella. Tell me what you want."

"Oh, My Lord…" Bellatrix shivered as his fingers drifted over her breasts and found the waistband of her skirt. He unzipped it down the side and the skirt fell to the floor, pooling around Bellatrix's feet. A shock of want went straight through her as Voldemort used one knuckle to tease the outside of her knickers.

"Too slow," he sighed. "Legilimens."

Suddenly Bellatrix felt him rip into her mind. She made no effort to keep him out; she let him pull out one vision of covetousness after another. The pearl-and-steel necklace in the window in Diagon Alley. The shiny black boots she'd seen a witch wearing in Borgin and Burke's. Expensive magical hair pomade to tame her wild curls. The very public manner in which she'd seen a wizard kiss a witch recently.

Voldemort scoffed as he pulled out of Bellatrix's mind.

"Is that what you want?" he asked, rising from his chair. "You want me to kiss you in front of Florean Fortescue's for the whole world to see? I'm not going to do that."

"I know, My Lord," Bellatrix said honestly, feeling a deep and unpleasant sense of embarrassment. His knuckle started teasing the outside of her knickers again, and she felt a rush of wetness there. Her master lowered his face and pulled her chin up, and then he whispered against her lips,

"There isn't anyone else. That will be enough for you."

Bellatrix moaned a little against him. She nodded, her arms snaking around his shoulders as she registered what he'd said. There was no one else.

"That is more than enough, My Lord," she assured him. He kissed her, his fingers working their way inside her knickers and fiddling with her clit. Bellatrix whimpered, her own hands going straight to the placket of his trousers. She shook as she unbuttoned the trousers and pushed them down, yanking Voldemort's shirt up. Her own blouse was still on, and suddenly they were just two mostly-clothed people fondling one another beside a dining room table.

Bellatrix ignored the awkwardness of that and let herself fall into the sensation of his fingers twisting into her, of his thumb drawing circles. She soaked in his kiss, the taste and smell of him. She pumped her hand on his firm length and thought perhaps her knees were going to give out. Suddenly Voldemort growled a little and pulled his face away from hers. He stared down at his cock, at the way her hand moved on him, and he whispered,

"Faster, Bella. Lubrico."

She felt an abrupt slickness beneath her hand as his lubrication spell took hold. His own thumb flicked more insistently against her nub as his fingers hooked and pushed. Bellatrix panted and tried to keep her hand moving as she felt herself quickly peaking.

Suddenly her knees did give out a bit, and she was dizzy as her body clamped around his fingers. Through the white-hot pleasure, she felt and tasted his kiss. His hand closed around hers and pumped on his cock a few dozen times. Voldemort pulled his mouth away and hissed through clenched teeth as he spilled himself all over both of their hands. Bellatrix moaned at the sight, still trembling from the way he'd touched her.

He cleaned them both up with a quick Tergeo and Scourgify and handed her her skirt back. As she pulled it on and zipped it, feeling oddly self-conscious, the Dark Lord tucked himself away and raked his fingers through his hair. He stepped closer to Bellatrix and brushed his thumb under her eye.

"There isn't anyone else," he said again. Bellatrix nodded.

She'd been all he'd had in Paris, in Venice, but this was different. She was living with him. She was his. And he seemed to be implying that their odd arrangement was unlike anything anyone else had with him. Bellatrix tried not to cry at that. She tried not to be overwhelmed by how much she adored him.

"I shall get you whatever I want to get you for Christmas," he said quietly, "and I'm sure you'll grovel as you thank me no matter what, because that's just the way you are, Bella."

"I require no Christmas gift from you, My Lord," Bellatrix insisted, but his eyebrows went up.

"Luckily for us both," he said, "I do not require your permission to buy anything. Take your time coming to bed. Goodnight."

He planted a swift kiss on Bellatrix's forehead and turned away. She watched him go, thinking of the ease with which he'd killed today and the way he'd spoken of Christmas. He was a complicated and Dark soul, and she loved him for it, Bellatrix thought. She loved him more than she could ever say.

* * *

"You look beautiful, Bella."

Bellatrix smiled up at Voldemort as he tightened his hands around her. She really did look lovely in her airy white gown. Everyone was watching them dance, but Voldemort could not bring himself to care. All that mattered just now was the shine in her wide, dark eyes and the flush in her cheeks. All that mattered was that she was his wife. Suddenly overcome with something he hadn't known himself to possess, Voldemort dragged his thumb over Bellatrix's and murmured,

"I do love you, you know."

Voldemort's eyes sprang open as the bizarre dream dissolved like smoke in his mind. He dug his fists into his eye sockets, unsure of whether to laugh or sneer. What an odd dream to have had, he thought. He would never love anyone , not even Bellatrix, and to hear himself saying the words in his sleep was uncomfortable.

But now as he lay beside her, he turned his head and studied her features, and thought that at the very least he did care for her. He thought back to Paris, to the feel of sheathing himself inside of her for the first time. He could almost taste the clams she'd made him. He thought of the train to Italy, of the sound of her breathing from the bunk beneath him. He thought of the two weeks he'd spent in Venice, unsure of whether she'd reappear or not. He thought of dancing with her at her sister's wedding, of Bellatrix twirling in the rain. He thought of her in battle and in his bed.

And then he realised exactly what he'd done.

It was not love; it could never be love. But he felt things for Bellatrix that he wasn't meant to feel for anyone in the world. And right now, right this minute, she squirmed and curled up against his shirtless body, and he let her do it. He shut his eyes and swallowed hard, knowing full well that he had no choice right now.

"Bella." His voice crackled in the air, and Bellatrix moved again on the bed beside him. Her fingers trailed up his chest and she made a rather adorable little sound that send a terrible spike up Voldemort's spine. He took her hand in his, kissed her knuckles, and said far more firmly, "Bellatrix."

She jolted awake then, her thick braid swatting at Voldemort's face as she sat up and looked around wildly. She started to reach on impulse for her wand on the table beside her, but Voldemort seized her other hand.

"Is something wrong, My Lord?" she asked, her voice deep and hoarse. An awful pain went through Voldemort's chest as he met her eyes, a pain so severe he wondered if a little bit of him was dying.

"As soon as it is logistically feasible," he began, dragging each word from the bottom of his unwilling throat, "You will marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

For a half second, Bellatrix did nothing. She neither moved nor spoke, and then suddenly her fingers clamped around Voldemort's and thick tears welled in her lovely dark eyes. Her breath hitched and quickened as she tried unsuccessfully to keep herself from crying. She was more Bellatrix than ever then as she whispered,

"As you command, My Lord."

"You were promised to him," Voldemort reminded her sternly, "and I have selfishly kept you for myself for too long."

Bellatrix nodded, but her hands shook violently inside Voldemort's and her bottom lip trembled. She said nothing at all, which frustrated Voldemort. He finally growled,

"I let you get too damned close, Bella. Don't you understand, you silly, clinging little girl? Get out of my bed and get dressed."

Bellatrix flew away from him, scrambling off the bed as quickly as she could to obey him. She would always obey him, Voldemort knew. She'd marry Rodolphus Lestrange because he'd commanded her to do it. But as she opened the wardrobe and started changing into a simple, knee-length black velvet dress, her back heaved with quiet sobs.

"You are disappointed, I know," Voldemort nodded, sitting upright, "but you're meant to be his wife, and you can be nothing of the sort for me. You understand, Bella?"

She nodded, though he didn't need to look into her mind to read the heartbreak, the way her soul had been crushed.

"Shall I leave, My Lord?" she asked pitifully, and he shook his head, unwilling to send her off just yet.

"You need to know what will happen next," he said matter-of-factly, by way of an excuse to keep looking at her. He cleared his throat and said, "You'll go back to your parents' house; I shall write your father in the morning. I'll write Rodolphus and his parents. I want the two of you married within a month; it needn't be a large or celebratory affair."

Bellatrix shut her eyes and leaned heavily onto the writing-desk against the wall.

"And will you come, My Lord?" she asked weakly.

"To your wedding? Erm… no. No, I don't suppose I would care to do so," Voldemort said firmly. She nodded, and he could hardly hear her as she whispered,

"I understand… My Lord."

He sighed and pulled himself from his bed, walking over to her and taking her face in his hands. He dragged his thumbs under her eyes, brushing away tears, and he said,

"You may stay until morning, else I can send your belongings along after you."

"If it's all the same, My Lord, I think I shall go now," Bellatrix mumbled. Suddenly her gaze was blank and empty as she informed him, "I will always be your most devoted servant."

"I know," he nodded. He kissed her lips carefully, feeling a twist and yank in his chest as though something had been ripped from his very being. He pulled his mouth from hers and cleared his throat. "You will also always be that witch isn't Paris and Venice, Bella. That witch in the rain."

He stepped back from her and she nodded, looking suddenly determined.

"Thank you, My Lord," she said. "For everything."

Lord Voldemort's mind was stricken then by a terrible sense of doom and foreboding. He was doing the wrong thing, he knew. How he knew it, he would not have been able to say. But he found himself overcome with a sensation of fear and panic. He couldn't let her go. He mustn't. Something inside his chest and inside his head screamed at him; every fibre of his being shrieked not to send Bellatrix away.

"Damn it, Bella," he snarled, grabbing his face so hard he knew his fingers would leave bruises. He smashed his mouth against her, tasting sleep on her and knowing she'd do the same and not caring one bit. He yanked at the neckline of her black velvet dress until it gave way with a satisfying rip. He pulled roughly at the dress as Bellatrix scrambled to find her way out of it. He literally tore her knickers from her body, eliciting a little shriek of pain. He shoved her toward the bed and bent her over at her waist.

She'd be dry, he knew. She'd been confused and sleepy and upset, and he'd acted too quickly now. He snatched his wand from the table, using one hand to shove his pyjama trousers down. He pulled his half-hard cock out and murmured, "Lubrico."

Then he wrenched Bellatrix's legs apart, aimed himself at her entrance, and pushed into her. He went hard as he buried himself, filling and stretching her unready body. She yelped and then whimpered as Voldemort took her wrists in his hands and pinned them to the bed.

"Mine," he whispered frantically, unable to control the shake in his voice, "You are mine, Bella; you're not to be anyone's wife at all. Do you understand me?"

He bucked himself hard against her a few times, and when she did not answer him, he squeezed her wrists harder, bent down and pressed his chest against her back, and demanded again,

"Tell me you understand that you belong to me alone. Or are you a little fool, after all?"

"I understand, My Lord," she choked out, her breath quick and shallow under Voldemort's weight. He shoved himself against her a few more times, hissing through his clenched teeth as he came. His hands tightened on Bellatrix's wrists and his chest pushed her down harder, and he only let up when she coughed and muttered a plea for mercy.

He kissed the spot between her shoulder blades as his member softened and fell from her body. An obscene trickle of his seed was working its way down her thigh, he could tell. Still, he did not let her go.

"There is a reason, Bellatrix, that we were sent to Paris," he panted. He kissed the spot beneath her ear and whispered, "I do not know, nor do I much care what the reason is, but you must not marry Rodolphus Lestrange."

"As you command, My Lord," Bellatrix said into the blankets, rightfully sounding more confused than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

December 1972

Bournemouth

"Happy Christmas," said Lord Voldemort to the little group he'd summoned. Then, smirking, he said, "Now that that's out of the way… inside the house behind me lives a witch called Redara Starrows. She is a Ministry official and an ally of Albus Dumbledore. More importantly, last week she killed our colleague, Andreas Selwyn."

Beside Bellatrix, Abraxas Malloy made a little sound of angry determination. He and Selwyn had been good friends, Bellatrix knew.

"Bella," said the Dark Lord, and she snapped to attention. He jerked his head toward the house and said, "Once I've unearned the place, follow me inside. Take out anyone else who may be present in the house. Leave Redara Starrows to me. Abraxas, Lucius, Rodolphus, and Rabastan. Form a perimeter round the block and keep a keen eye out in case she manages to summon her friends before she dies."

"Right, My Lord." Abraxas turned to the other three men and said firmly, "Lucius, go north. Rabastan, south. Rodolphus, you go east, and I'll go west."

"Meet at Malfoy Manor to debrief once you see the Dark Mark," Voldemort commanded. "Bella, let's go."

She wordlessly followed him off the beach and onto the sand-strewn road above. They walked straight toward a Victorian red brick row house, and Voldemort confidently swiped his wand in smooth arcs and lines. The air vibrated and buzzed as the house's wards came tumbling down.

"Alohomora," said the Dark Lord, and then he barked over his shoulder, "Check for others."

Suddenly Bellatrix was dashing into the house, her boot heels clacking on the wooden floor of the foyer as she extended her wand before her.

"STUPEFY!" she heard a woman's voice cry, but Voldemort easily repelled the spell as he moved smoothly into the parlour. He sounded almost lazy as his velveteen voice incanted,

"Avada Kedavra."

Bellatrix ignored the jade green flash of light and cast a spell of her own.

"Homenum Revelio," she murmured, and at once she felt a low swooping sense of weight coming from the kitchen at the end of the corridor. Bellatrix hurried down the corridor with her wand out, and as she burst into the kitchen, she felt a sense of vague amusement.

A teenaged girl. Home for Christmas from Hogwarts, no doubt.

She was standing with her back to the cupboards, a mug of tea in one hand and a shaking wand in the other. Her eyes blazed sapphire with anger and fear, but Bellatrix sensed no real threat.

"Expelliarmus," said Bellatrix casually, and the girl's wand came soaring through the air toward her. Bellatrix caught it deftly and managed to twist her left hand around it just so. She snapped it in one fluid movement - a favourite trick she'd developed after much practise in situations just such as this.

"Please," the girl begged, holding up her hand, "My name is Maureen Starrows; I'm a third-year Gryffindor, and I -"

"That's nice. My name is Bellatrix Black. Slytherin, class of '70. Avada Kedavra." Green light ballooned from Bellatrix's wand and smashed into the girl's chest. She collapsed from where she stood, her mug of tea shattering and spilling around her.

"Well done," she heard her master's voice say softly from behind her. "There are no others. Let's go."

Bellatrix obediently followed Voldemort from the house, passing the Starrows' Christmas tree as she did. There were unopened gifts on the ground, and she was tempted to take one, seeing as how nobody else was probably going to enjoy them now. But they needed to leave, so she followed the lord and master she so adored outside. She aimed her wand at the sky and said firmly,

"Morsmordre." She watched as glittering green light shot up into the inky black sky. The skeletal figure of the Dark Mark tattooed itself into the Heavens, and Voldemort said,

"Let's go, Bella."

Everyone met up at Malfoy Manor, and for ten minutes or so, Voldemort described to his subordinates exactly what had taken place inside the Starrows' house.

"The daughter was in the kitchen; Bellatrix dispatched of her quickly. Any questions?" he said from the head of the table.

"None, My Lord," said Rodolphus Lestrange, looking straight at Bellatrix with a rather odd expression. She felt her cheeks go warm, and she looked away from him.

"Well. I am sorry to have pulled you all away from what I'm very sure were magnificent Christmas Eve celebrations. Your collective speed in answering my summons and focus on site will not be forgotten. Dismissed."

The others rose and bowed, and Voldemort mumbled something to Abraxas Malfoy about leaving his manor to him momentarily.

"There is no rush at all, My Lord. Happy Christmas," Abraxas said, guiding his son Lucius from the room. Rabastan Lestrange had already gone, but Rodolphus lingered for a half moment and flashed Bellatrix a shy little smile.

"Happy Christmas, Bella," he said warmly, and Bellatrix felt her mouth fall open. She nodded.

"Thank you, Rodolphus. Happy Christmas to you, too."

Then she was left alone in the dining-room with Voldemort, who looked abruptly irritated as he said firmly,

"Meet me at Blaize Bailey. I need a moment."

"Of course, My Lord." Bellatrix rose, pushed her chair in, and bowed her head toward her master. As she was leaving the room, she heard him say from behind her,

"That kill was very well done, Bellatrix. Easy and quick, with no hesitation."

Bellatrix smiled a little and drummed her fingers on the door jamb. "We are at war, My Lord. There is no time or space for hesitation."

"You're very right," he nodded. "Now go home, and I shall be along in a moment."

When Bellatrix arrived back at Blaize Bailey, she pondered what he'd said to her. Go home. This was her home. Their home. That thought made her want to weep, but she'd done more than enough of that lately. Instead she went into the great sitting-room and walked to the spindly Christmas tree she'd erected. Voldemort had expressed apathy toward the holiday in its entirety; he could not be troubled at all with decorations.

Bellatrix reached beneath the tree and picked up the small box that contained the gift she'd been working on for a month. She paced in the sitting-room and chewed on a thumbnail. Her mother and Narcissa would scold her ferociously if they saw her biting her nails. Bellatrix gnawed harder at that thought. After a while, she large front door of the house swung open, and the Dark Lord came gliding smoothly into the sitting-room.

He ignored Bellatrix for a moment and sank into one of the brown leather wing backs. He used his wand to cast a fire into the fireplace and stared at the flames as he noted,

"He called you Bella."

"Rodolphus, you mean," Bellatrix nodded. She moved to stand before Voldemort, trying not to block his view of the fire. "He did call me that, My Lord, but I never told him to do so. I don't suspect he had ill intentions."

Voldemort glared up at her. "It was inexcusably presumptuous, and I told him so. He pines after you."

Bellatrix scoffed and shook her head. "Really, My Lord, I don't think -"

"You dare question me?" he hissed, flying to his feet. A sudden shock of terror went through Bellatrix, and she nearly dropped his present. He loomed over her and demanded, "Which one of us is a Legilimens?"

"You are, Master," Bellatrix said immediately. She watched his throat bob, and he said again quietly,

"Rodolphus Lestrange lusts after you. He finds you very beautiful, and he admires your courage. He thinks the way you carry yourself and converse is attractive. I can't blame him for any of that. But I certainly can - and did - Confound him into developing rather a serious crush on Tiara Shacklebolt."

Bellatrix blinked a few times and lowered her face. "I am yours, My Lord. Whatever you think is best with Rodolphus, I defer entirely to your wise judgment."

"Hmm. Good girl," he said. "Now. What have you got there?"

She looked down at her hands, which now shook fiercely around the little box. She gulped and held it out to the Dark Lord.

"It is a Christmas gift, My Lord. Nothing special, and I apologise in advance for my poor craftsmanship, but I confess to being inexperienced with -"

"Let me open it before you begin making excuses, hmm?" Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow at her, and Bellatrix forced a smile. Her stomach roiled with nerves and she thought she might be sick on the ground as he pulled on the black satin ribbon. What if he hated it or laughed at her feeble spellwork? Bellatrix wrung her hands before her as he pulled the lid off the box. He stared into the box for so long a moment that Bellatrix finally blurted out,

"Are they as awful as that, My Lord?"

"Awful?" he repeated, his voice cracking a little. He shook his head and raised his eyes to her. "They're not awful. They are… hmm."

He seemed unsure of what to say then, and Bellatrix watched as he finally just pulled the cufflinks she'd made him out of the box. He set the box on the small table behind him and dragged his thumb over one of the cufflinks. They were small ovals of clear glass through which Bellatrix had swirled black and emerald and the deepest glittering silver. It had taken a good deal of study, and of trial and error, to wind up with this pair of cufflinks.

"They're meant to be in the Venetian style of glass, My Lord," she informed him, and he nodded.

"Yes. They certainly do make me think of Venice," he replied, pulling out the plain silver cufflinks he'd been wearing and replacing them with Bellatrix's. He studied his sleeves, which were elegant and sleek even to Bellatrix's self-criticising eyes. Voldemort huffed out a little sigh and said quite warmly, "Thank you, Bella."

"Happy Christmas, My Lord," she said with a contented smile. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead as he murmured,

"You'll get your gift from me in the morning."

Lord Voldemort drummed his fingers on the dining-room table and stared at the the twin plates of eggs, rashers, and potato that he'd cooked up. He was no chef and certainly couldn't rival Bellatrix's skill in the kitchen, but this morning he'd at least tried. It was Christmas, and Bellatrix had made a fool of him many times over. She may as well do it again with breakfast, he reckoned.

He'd left her sleeping beside him when dawn had broken. He knew the smell of the hot meal would wake her, and, sure enough, he heard the patter of her footsteps on the staircase. He folded his hands on the table and then stood up once she came into the room. She looked exquisite in her short black satin nightgown, and she raked her curls from her lovely face as she grinned.

"Is this my gift, My Lord?"

He snorted a derisive little laugh and sat when she did. "I would scarcely call my cooking a gift to anyone. But I was hungry."

"Mmm…" She nodded her approval as she took a bite of roast potato. She drank some orange juice and swiped her thumb over her bottom lip, immediately taking Voldemort back to the Simpson-Orient Express, when she'd wiped cream from her lips. He gulped and took a few bites of his own food before he said,

"I want to tell you once more, Bella, how satisfied I was with your performance yesterday."

He kept his voice sterile and cold, but her face immediately broke into a broad, happy expression. She set down her fork and assured him,

"My Lord, I am never happier or more at peace than when I am in your service."

"Yes. Well." He cleared his throat rather roughly and pulled a flat square box from the chair beside him. He pushed it across the table slowly and told her, "I should like to be able to tell you that this gift is a mere expression of gratitude for exemplary service in battle, but you know damned well that isn't true. So, here you are. Happy Christmas, Bella."

Her fingers trembled as she took the lid off the box. He hadn't bothered wrapping it, but she didn't seem to mind one bit. One of her hands clapped to her mouth as she gazed upon the necklace inside the box. It consisted of five strands of delicate silver chain, with spheres of steel and pearls hovering at random intervals. It was sleek and modern and elegant and very Bellatrix in its dark whimsy.

"That's the right one, then, is it?" Voldemort asked, and Bellatrix nodded. She'd seen this necklace in a store window in Diagon Alley and had coveted it. That much Voldemort had pulled straight from Bellatrix's head when he'd asked her about Christmas gifts. He'd sent an owl and twice the asking price to the store owner insisting that the necklace be discreetly shipped to Malfoy Manor.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed, pulling the necklace from it box. She held it up before her and shook her head. "I couldn't possibly accept -"

"You would insult me greatly by rejecting it," Voldemort said matter-of-factly. "Shall I help you put it on?"

He didn't wait for her answer. He rose from his chair, ignoring his half-eaten breakfast, and he walked around the table. He took the necklace from Bellatrix's hands and murmured gently,

"Pull your hair aside, then."

She did, dragging her wild curls over her shoulder. Voldemort remembered how she'd looked with those curls cropped short, the way she'd grown her hair back out before they'd rocketed forward in time again. Suddenly he found himself pulling his wand from his robe pocket and dragging it carefully around Bellatrix's head just below her ears. He severed the hair, and Bellatrix gasped as it made a pile on the floor. Voldemort Vanished the hair, and he tucked his wand away. He brought the necklace around Bellatrix's front and fastened the clasp behind her newly exposed neck. She touched the pearls and steel and stood up.

"How do I look?" she asked, her tone meaningful and heavy. She'd left out the honorific, Voldemort noted. She ended almost every address to him with a Master or more commonly a My Lord. Now she looked him straight in the eye, and something powerful seemed to have come over her. Voldemort brushed his knuckles over her short hair, over the necklace and her bare collarbone, and he said truthfully,

"You look… perfect. The necklace suits you, and I think I prefer your hair this way."

"Whatever you prefer," she whispered, daring to put one hand on his scruffy cheek. She dragged her thumb around the scratchy stubble that was badly in need of shaving, and she said quietly, "Thank you. Happy Christmas, My Lord."

* * *

31 December, 1972

Malfoy Manor

"Happy New Year's Eve, darling," said Druella Black, kissing her eldest daughter on each cheek. She fingered Bellatrix's cropped curls and stepped back, a rather horrified expression on her face. "But… what on Earth have you done to your hair?"

Bellatrix cocked up an eyebrow. "Oh. Don't you like it, Mother?"

"Well. It isn't my place to dictate your hairstyle anymore," Druella said dismissively, waving her arm. "You're twenty-one years of age, and if you want to wear your hair like a boy, who am I to -"

"I think it looks wonderful, Mummy," said Narcissa, marching into the room and practically shoving a flute of champagne into Bellatrix's hands. She smiled warmly and said, "I'll bet I know why you cut it."

Bellatrix's heart began to race, and her hand shook around her champagne. "Why's that?"

"Because of battle!" Narcissa said, rolling her eyes. "Lucius did say your long curls were always getting in your eyes in the midst of things."

"Oh. Yes." Bellatrix swigged from her champagne and nodded. "Yes. It's because of battle."

"I don't want to hear about you putting your life at risk, even if it is for a good cause," insisted Druella. "We are here to celebrate the new year, and there will be fireworks on the lawn at midnight. I want you girls out there ten minutes ahead of time; the Malfoys have arranged something wonderful and I will not have the Black family be tardy."

"No, we wouldn't want to be tardy," Bellatrix snorted, finishing off her flute of champagne. It refilled itself, and suddenly she found herself quite glad that it had been enchanted to do so.

Today was the Dark Lord's birthday. She'd only found that out a few days prior, when he'd let it slip in conversation. He'd commanded her not to procure any material gift for him, and she'd obeyed that order just like she would any other. But Bellatrix had every intention of giving him another gift, one that might require liquid courage to carry out.

She sipped at her champagne as her mother and sister chatted about new robes from Monsieur Filetage's in Paris. That made Bellatrix think of her time in Paris, of Jules Bayard and the near-miss of meeting Gellert Grindelwald. He was still alive, Bellatrix knew, hidden away in Nurmengard. She wondered distantly if perhaps someday her lord and master might like to meet Grindelwald at last.

"Bellatrix, pay attention!" Druella Black barked, and Bellatrix snapped to attention. She saw Narcissa wearing a broad smile and knitting her hands before her.

"What is it?" Bellatrix asked, and Narcissa said,

"We want you to come to Paris with us, of course! A shopping trip. Just us girls."

Without Andromeda, of course. Bellatrix hadn't seen the middle Black daughter in nearly a year, not since Andromeda had seen fit to marry the Mudblood Ted Tonks. Now there were only two daughters in the Black family. Bellatrix stared into her champagne and said,

"That would be great fun. I shall ask the Dark Lord for permission."

"Ask the Dark Lord?" Narcissa sounded a bit concerned. "Do you need his permission for something as innocuous as a weekend trip to Paris?"

"Not all of us have the luxury of being obsessed with clothing, Cissy," Bellatrix snapped. She looked from her sister to her mother and back again and said proudly, "Yesterday, I was back in Cardiff finishing up a conflict there. I took a Cruciatus Curse for damn near a full minute before the Dark Lord himself killed the wench who'd cursed me. As soon as I could stand again, I blew out the windows of ten Muggle houses and set two on fire. Does that make you frightened, Cissy? Does it make you proud, Mummy?"

The other women just stared at her, and finally Druella dragged her thumb around her own glass and murmured, "We understand, Bellatrix. You're a soldier, not a shopper. Your role in this great conflict is on the front lines, much as it pains me as your mother to admit such a thing. No need to rub it in our faces with the gory details, eh?"

"Why don't I just go to Paris with Mummy, then?" Narcissa asked in a meek voice. "You can stay here and… you know…"

"Fight," Bellatrix finished for her. Behind her, the door to the library swung open, and Lucius Malfoy said merrily,

"Countdown to midnight is in ten minutes! Everyone outside in the gardens!"

There was a bit of a shuffle then as Bellatrix and the others Summoned their cloaks and gloves to go out into the wintry night. Everyone chattered quietly as they made their way out of Malfoy Manor, but Bellatrix walked alone. Up ahead of her in the corridor, she could see Rodolphus Lestrange walking with Tiara Shacklebolt, both of them smiling. When she realised why exactly it was that Rodolphus liked Tiara so much, Bellatrix finished off her flute of champagne and half of the next one once it refilled. She remembered the Dark Lord's anger on Christmas Eve, the way he'd Confounded Rodolphus to forget his affections for Bellatrix.

She stumbled a little on the stairs that led out of the mansion, for the champagne was truly settling into her veins now. Out in the gardens, she found a spot away from the crowd, sitting on a cast iron bench and drinking more champagne. Narcissa and Lucius were speaking with Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, and a few Malfoy cousins were chatting with Druella and Cygnus Black. Rabastan Lestrange seemed to be flirting rather ostentatiously with an icy blonde Malfoy woman whose name Bellatrix couldn't place. Perhaps if they didn't all look so much alike, she thought unkindly.

"Bella."

She whirled around, spilling champagne down her front as her head spun. It was him, standing right there behind her bench. It was the Dark Lord himself. He held out his hand silently, and Bellatrix set down her champagne as she rose and rushed around the bench. She took his hand and let him guide her behind a tall hedge, hidden away from the others.

"Happy birthday, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered furtively, and he answered her by putting his fingers on her lips and shushing her gently. He smirked when Narcissa's voice traveled around the hedge.

"Where did Bella go?"

"She's probably off skulking somewhere being as antisocial as ever," Druella Black replied. "Enjoy your husband's fireworks show, Cissy. Bellatrix will turn up when she feels like it."

Voldemort chuckled under his breath and lowered his lips to Bellatrix's ear. "Were you being very antisocial?"

She gasped as he snaked his arm around her and drew her near. She put one hand on his heavy woolen cloak and whispered up to him,

"I was merely defending my service, My Lord. My sister wanted me to go to Paris, but I explained that I -"

"Why shouldn't you go to Paris?" His breath was warm on her neck, and Bellatrix shut her eyes against the feel of it. Then his lips touched the skin beneath her ear, and he murmured, "Good things happen in Paris, don't they?"

Bellatrix realised then that he was drunk. She was a little tipsy from all the champagne, but he was properly sloshed. She could smell whisky on him. He wouldn't have come here, sneaking around in bushes with her, if he hadn't been drunk.

"One minute until the countdown!" shouted Lucius Malfoy from across the garden.

"Perhaps we should go home," Bellatrix suggested, holding fast to the Dark Lord's cloak. He shook his head and mumbled,

"Fireworks first, eh?"

Bellatrix felt a flush of want go through her as he pushed the hood of her cape down and took her face in his leather-gloved hands. She stared up at his glassy dark eyes and whispered,

"I suppose my birthday gift to you will have to be a belated one, Master."

He tipped his head and smiled a little. "I can live with that."

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Bellatrix turned her face at the sound of everyone counting down. Numbers were appearing in the sky, written in glowing silver light. Bellatrix grinned a little at the magnificence of the sight.

"Seven! Six! Five! Four!"

Voldemort's hands tightened on her face and turned her back to him. His face descended to hers, and his lips hovered a half inch away as he whispered along with the distant chanting,

"Three. Two. One. Happy New Year."

Then he kissed her, gently at first as the drum-like thudding of fireworks burst around them. Bellatrix was distantly aware of the glowing colours, of the sound of an enchanted set of bagpipes playing "Auld Lang Syne." But more than anything, she was caught up in him, in her wondrous master, and in the fantasy of making him moan in their bed. When at last he pulled his mouth from hers, Bellatrix begged him,

"Please, may we go home now?"

"Hold onto my sleeve," he replied, and there was a sudden black pinch and whirl as they Disapparated.

* * *

31 December 1972

Blaize Bailey

"So," Voldemort managed to mumble as he stripped off one layer at a time in their bedroom, "What is this belated birthday gift? I thought I'd told you not to get me anything."

"You did, My Lord. I didn't buy or make you anything," Bellatrix assured him, standing before him with her back to him. She gestured aimlessly at the zipper and said in an increasingly intoxicated voice, "Would you mind… you know, the zipper? Please?"

He took his time unzipping the dress, feeling his cock go solid as he did. He was uncharacteristically cheerful tonight, he knew. He was being unusually casual with Bellatrix, as if they were in some sort of formalised relationship. Then he eyed the ring on her left hand and the necklace of steel and pearls that she wore, and he wondered why the blazes he was still pretending. Perhaps it was the whisky, and perhaps it wasn't, but tonight he felt no desire for their charade. All he felt desire for was her. He finished unzipping her dress and pushed the sleeves down, kissing her shoulder blade and hearing her breath hiss.

"What is my present, Bella?" he teased again. Her voice shook a little as she declared,

"I'd rather show you than tell you… My Lord."

She was almost forgetting these days to add those last two words, he knew. Half the time, he noted, she was downright insubordinate. And he couldn't make himself care. Instead he watched her step out of her dress and roll her stockings down before she unclasped her bra and pulled her knickers off. Once her clothes were in a pile behind her, she turned and wrapped one hand around Voldemort's stiffened cock.

"Happy belated birthday, Master," she said, quirking up half her mouth. Before he could answer, she was sinking down to her knees, and suddenly he realised what she meant to do. He reached for the bedpost and held fast as the whisky hit him harder than ever. He squeezed his eyes shut as her fingers drifted up and down his length, and he leaned against the bedpost when her mouth cinched around him. Warm, wet, and soft. Squeezing gently with her lips, she brought him one centimetre at a time toward her throat.

Voldemort forced his eyes open and stared down at her, and she stared right back. Her wide, beautiful eyes were glazed with champagne and with arousal. He was lost in those eyes for a moment, lost in the way that her full lips moved up and down his shaft. Her tongue was lathing on him within her mouth, dragging and suckling.

"Have you… have you much experience with this?" he couldn't help asking, unable to steady his voice through the feel of her mouth on him. Bellatrix shook her head.

"Hmm-mmph…" She pulled her lips away and panted as she pumped her hand over his slick length. "No, My Lord. I've never done it before. I beg you forgive me for being unskilled."

"Very much the opposite, I assure you," he said in a breathy tone. He grunted then, sounding far more like a predatory animal than he intended. He couldn't help it; Bellatrix had returning to licking him whilst one hand fondled the orbs that made him a man. He banged his fist on the bedpost when Bellatrix drank his tip deeply down her throat.

"You'd best make up your mind quickly, Bella, about what you mean to do with the… mmmph…" He snared his fingers in her short curls, the ones he'd cut like she'd worn in the 1920s. That thought - the thought of her in the past and here in so brief a time - sent him over the edge. It was too much to stare into her eyes and think of all that had transpired. He came with an explosion in his veins, his hands squeezing Bellatrix's scalp so roughly that she whined in pain. He felt her throat clamping around him as she swallowed hard, and he twitched inside of her mouth as his seed pumped forth.

When at last she pulled away, she left him shivering and dizzy. She dragged her finger over her swollen bottom lip and licked the fingertip. Voldemort groaned, feeling abruptly tired. He bent and snatched her wrists, yanking her up to stand. He felt more drunk than ever as he put one hand to the small of her back and tucked her short hair behind her ear.

"Quite a gift," he murmured, and Bellatrix smiled as she told him,

"Happy birthday, My Lord. Can't say I've ever tasted anything so delicious. I apologise; I think that gift was more for me than for you."

"You enjoy pleasuring me," Voldemort noted. He pushed her toward the bed, and she scrambled back and under the covers. He walked around the bed and lay on his own side, tucking the blankets up around him. He shut his eyes, feeling more profoundly drunk now after finishing in Bellatrix's mouth. She didn't ask his permission as she curled up against him, and he didn't demand it.

"Happy belated birthday, My Lord," she said in a tired, happy voice.

"Happy New Year, Bella," he replied, breathing in the rose scent in her curls and feeling an odd stirring in his belly.

He thought of her birthday, of the bracelet, of Paris, of Venice. He thought of Grindelwald, languishing in his own prison as the years ticked by since his defeat at the hands of Dumbledore. Voldemort wondered as he drifted off to sleep whether it was possible someone other than Dumbledore had been involved in cursing that bracelet to achieve some end. If so, he wondered, what was the desired end, and who had sought to achieve it?

It was a question he'd pondered for months, and he was no nearer the answer now than he'd been. Still, as he dragged his fingers through Bellatrix's bobbed curls, he found himself murmuring aloud,

"There was a reason we were sent back, Bella. I must know that reason."

"I shall help uncover the truth in any way I am able, My Lord," Bellatrix assured him, though she sounded more asleep than awake. Deciding to surrender himself to his recently-deceased birthday, to the New Year, and to Bellatrix's rather extraordinary oral skill, he settled against his pillow and pulled her closer.

"Happy birthday," she whispered again, and once more he replied,

"Happy New Year."


	8. Chapter 8

_February 1973_

 _Blaize Bailey_

"You're very certain, My Lord?" Bellatrix asked, staring at the brass key Voldemort was levitating before her. He nodded once.

"That odd sensation I experienced at your birthday party, just before you grabbed the bracelet. It's the same feeling. This is one of those… well, not Portkeys, but… it's cursed in the same way the bracelet was."

Bellatrix leaned onto the kitchen counter and studied the key. It looked perfectly normal, though the fact that it had been left on the stoop of the house at Blaize Bailey was more than a little suspicious. Bellatrix chomped her lip and asked,

"What do we do about it, Master? Do we destroy it?"

"No." He shook his head and set the key down onto the counter. He sighed deeply and touched his forehead. "I remain convinced that there was a very good reason why you and I were hurtled back to Paris, why Aloysius da Chioggia found it necessary to plant the bracelet - 'again,' according to his lived experience. If I could find out _who_ was orchestrating all of this, perhaps I'd be wiser about it all. But my instinct is to consider that perhaps all this traveling through time and space is needed for me to achieve my goals. The how and the why are not yet clear, but… not all paths are straight, Bella."

She nodded and wondered aloud, "Where does it go, do you suppose?"

"No idea," Voldemort said honestly. "Keep your wand out and be prepared for anything. I've got money in my Extended pockets. _Accio_ handbag."

Suddenly Bellatrix's leather bag, the one she'd Extended to hold clothing, potions, medical supplies, and more in case of emergency, came soaring into the kitchen. Bellatrix gulped as she caught the cross-body bag and put it on. She wondered if this would be the end of everything, or if the Dark Lord was right. Perhaps the only way forward was back.

"Take my wrist." Voldemort extended his right hand, the one holding his wand. Bellatrix noticed that he wasn't shaking one bit. He wasn't afraid. She curled her fingers around his wrist, pushing his sleeve back a bit to do so. She gripped her own wand carefully as Voldemort's left hand reached toward the key. His eyes stayed trained on the counter as he murmured, "No matter what happens, Bellatrix… know that I do indeed care for you."

She didn't have time to react to those words. He grasped the key in his hand, and suddenly everything was blinding white and searing hot. Then an icy blast and a sense of floating took over Bellatrix, and for a moment she was nothing. Then she was crashing onto her knees and immediately being hauled up by the Dark Lord. He Disapparated, and the black, pinching whirl made Bellatrix feel profoundly nauseated. When she came to in what seemed to be an alley, bent over at the waist and feeling like she might throw up, she heard Voldemort's voice murmur,

"Nearly got hit by a damned Muggle tram."

Bellatrix aimed her wand at herself and said in a shaking voice, " _C-Contremesis_."

"You'll be all right in a moment," the Dark Lord mused, and as the overwhelming nausea began to fade, Bellatrix watched him step out into the street. He walked very boldly up to a newsboy hawking papers. Bellatrix watched the boy shiver where he stood, and she knew he'd been Confounded to give a newspaper to Lord Voldemort without payment. The boy walked away, his motions almost mechanical, and Voldemort returned to the alley. He huffed out a little sigh and dragged his wand over the newspaper, murmuring spells to translate the text. His eyebrows went up, and he held the newspaper out to Bellatrix. She took it and read the title, which had remained in German. _Wiener Zeitung_. The date below said 9 February 1913. The headline, which had been translated, read, " _VIENNA TO HOST WORLD FIGURE SKATING CHAMPIONSHIPS IN TWO WEEKS' TIME._ "

Bellatrix lowered the newspaper and looked up at Voldemort. She shook her head and said in a confused voice, "Precisely sixty years back. Vienna. Why?"

Voldemort furrowed his brows. "If my memory of history is correct, then Gellert Grindelwald was in Vienna during this time, slowly amassing the very beginnings of his army."

"Do you think we're meant to meet up with him here?" Bellatrix breathed, and Voldemort's cheeks went a bit red as he admitted,

"I know less about this time and place than I'd care to say. I speak only a few words of German, though there are spells to help with that. I know little of this time period. And… Grindelwald will be young. Thirty years of age. Just beginning."

"Oh." Bellatrix nodded and studied the newspaper again. She saw in an advertisement that a woman was wearing an elegant gown and hat. She handed the newspaper to Voldemort and requested, "Will you hold this up for a moment, Master? So that I can disguise myself a bit better?"

He did, looking almost amused by the way Bellatrix mimicked the pen drawings of women on the newspaper's front page. She lengthened the skirt of her black dress, narrowed it, added an overlay of green lace, tightened her sleeves, and Transfigured two pebbles into black gloves. She lengthened her hair again and then used her wand to direct it into a loose knot atop her head. She pulled a simple hat out of her Extended bag and Transfigured it into black wool with a peacock feather. By the time she was finished, Bellatrix was downright exhausted, still recovering from the time travel and the immediate Apparition. She looked up at Voldemort and asked,

"How do I look?"

He tipped his head, which now had an elegant black fedora atop it. He brushed his knuckles along Bellatrix's jaw and said, "Lovely. As always. Now… first thing's first. We need a place to stay before we can find out why we're here."

* * *

 _February 1913_

 _Vienna, Austria_

The Confundus Charm, as it turned out, was remarkably useful when one was in a time and place where one did not belong. Lord Voldemort was able to convince the management of the Hotel Sacher that he was an impoverished aristocrat from Britain, fleeing his English creditors with his equally noble wife. Anna Sacher, the Muggle who ran the establishment with the business acumen of a flea, was more than willing to provide fine accommodations to the Lord and Lady Black. And thanks to the Confundus Charm, the woman would never look more thoroughly into Voldemort's dubious claims.

It was half past three by the time Voldemort and Bellatrix settled into their elegant suite of rooms. The afternoon sun streamed in through the clean glass and illuminated the blue-and-white toile wallpaper and the elegant blue velvet furniture.

"I shall Transfigure more time-appropriate clothing as soon as I can, My Lord," Bellatrix said, leaning heavily onto a mahogany writing-desk in the parlour, "but I must ask if I might lie down for just a little while."

"You'll buy the clothes," Voldemort said firmly, "and I want you in the bedroom at once. Close your eyes; this exhaustion will pass. It's from too much travel, too much magical output at once. You'll be fine soon enough. We'll go eat in a few hours."

"Thank you, Master," Bellatrix mumbled, sounding a bit sick. He followed her into the bedroom and unbuttoned the back of her Transfigured gown, sliding it off of her and watching as she pulled a simple white slip out of her Extended bag. She would need a corset in this time, he realised, and that thought made him feel rather odd. He swallowed hard and informed her,

"We shall ask the concierge about nearby dressmakers, and… and you can get whatever you require in the morning."

"Thank you," she murmured. She pulled a few of the poufy brown silk pillows from the bed and tossed them onto the floor near the wall. She slid between the blankets, and Voldemort decided he wanted to join her. It was indeed draining, traveling through time and space. He stripped off everything but his trousers and white shirt and settled on the bed beside Bellatrix. He leaned back against the pillows as she shut her eyes. She breathed slowly and eventually whispered, "We're back to being married."

"So we are," Voldemort nodded. He pondered what exactly had happened today. When he'd found a brass key on his doorstep at Blaize Bailey, after returning from a battle in Scotland, he knew better than to touch it or to completely ignore it. Someone, somewhere had a vested interest in tossing him around chronology and geography. And for some reason, it seemed destined that Bellatrix would be with him.

He knew very little about the Austrian wizarding community in his own time, much less in 1913. Grindelwald was here somewhere, but Voldemort wouldn't have the first notion of how to find him. It would take careful sleuthing to uncovering the Magical community in Austria, and then to successfully worm his way to Grindelwald himself. Voldemort had a feeling they would be here for some time.

"Bella," he said quietly, but she'd already fallen asleep. He let her rest, choosing to tip his own head back and shut his eyes for a while. He drifted off after some time, and when he opened his eyes again, the light coming through the windows had been snuffed into nighttime. The carved wooden clock on the wall said six o'clock.

"Bella," Voldemort murmured, shaking her shoulder a bit. She jolted awake, and when she looked around, she seemed to realise for the second time where they were and what had happened.

"Shall I dress for dinner, My Lord?" she asked in a voice still husky with sleep. He nodded at her and began Transfiguring his own simple clothing into a sleek tuxedo. Bellatrix added some beading and embellishments to her own dress, made the sleeves shorter and the gloves longer, and added another peacock feather to her hat. Once they were both appropriately dressed, Voldemort held his arm out to her.

"Are you Edmund?" she asked, her dark eyes wide. He shook his head, not wanting to hear her say a name he'd never really possessed.

"Tom," he said simply. "Call me Tom. And you're Bellatrix. It's as simple as that."

"Tom," she breathed, and for some reason that old terrible name sounded beautiful coming from her lips. For a moment, Voldemort's eyes fluttered shut and he had to remind himself of who he was. No matter the time or place, he was Lord Voldemort. He was the Dark Lord. But hearing that old name, _Tom_ , in Bellatrix's voice was almost enough to erase the loathing he bore the word.

Almost.

"Let's go," he said rather brusquely, guiding Bellatrix from their suite and locking the door behind them. As they made their way down the staircase, he murmured a spell over each of them. " _Complectolingua,_ " he said, repeating it for Bellatrix.

"Will I understand their German now?" she asked. Voldemort nodded and replied,

"And when you speak, they shall hear words they understand. It's the best solution for now."

Bellatrix smiled a little, holding up her skirt a bit as they descended from the final landing of stairs. She moved gracefully as Voldemort guided her into the green-and-black restaurant just off the lobby, and as they were taken to their table, she whispered,

"How delightfully Slytherin this place feels."

He couldn't help but snort a little laugh at that. He held Bellatrix's chair out for her and thanked the waiter for his menu when he sat. He watched the Muggles around them for a moment, all of them so caught up in their haughty finery that they were hardly looking at one another.

"Tell me what you'd like to eat," Voldemort said quietly. "Men order for women in this time."

"Oh." A little twist of displeasure came over Bellatrix's face, and Voldemort couldn't help but smirk. She deferred to him and was obedient to him, but to everyone else, she was often petulant and snarky. He enjoyed seeing both sides of her - the Bellatrix who stared lovingly up at him from his arm and the Bellatrix who pulled a face at a patriarchal method of ordering food. She was, after all, a soldier in his war. She was hardly a delicate blossom. But she'd have to be _his_ here, even more than she was at home, if they were to blend in long enough to get answers and go back to their own time.

"I think I would like the olives to begin, and then the Tafelspitz," she said. Voldemort nodded. He was ordering the same main dish as her - boiled beef with minced apples and horseradish. It was a national dish of Austria, but owing to his inexperience with the country, Voldemort had never tried it.

"Good evening," said the crisp voice of the snooty-looking Muggle waiter. "What should I bring you to drink and eat?"

The wording was off, filtered through his comprehension spell, and Voldemort frowned a little. But he folded his hands on the table and said smoothly, "A bottle of Zweigelt. Olives for the lady to begin, and the asparagus with poached egg for myself. We'll both have the Tafelspitz."

The waiter seemed the tiniest bit confused as he scribbled the order down onto his little notepad. He tucked the pad and pencil into his jacket pocket and took the menus from Voldemort and Bellatrix. He nodded his head and said,

"The bottle of Zweigelt and the appetizers will be out quickly."

He walked away, and Voldemort watched him go, wanting to ensure the Muggle didn't report any suspicion to any of his colleagues.

"Erm… Tom?" Bellatrix said, and Voldemort snapped back to face her. She looked almost frightened as she asked in a low whisper, "Will we ever know why we… why this happens?"

"Yes." Voldemort nodded firmly. "Yes, we'll know, because I mean to find out. It may take a few days to track down the appropriate community, but I mean to do so. I know of precisely one shop of our nature here in Vienna, a place that sells… brooms." He looked around furtively, ensuring that no one else was listening. He leaned a bit toward Bellatrix and said, "Besenfliegen was well-known for making the fastest broomsticks in Europe, at least in the 1930s and 1940s. When I was at Hogwarts, all the Quidditch players coveted broomsticks from them."

Bellatrix frowned in confusion. "When I was at Hogwarts, everyone bought their brooms from the regular old shop in Diagon Alley."

Voldemort felt his cheeks go a little hot, and he knew he sounded irritated as he said, "Yes, well, you're twenty-five years younger than me, Bella. The last I'd heard, the very elderly and childless owner of Besenfliegen died in the early 60s, and the shop closed."

"But if he was so very old then," Bellatrix nodded, "perhaps the place is open now."

"It's the only lead I have on the magical community in Vienna," Voldemort admitted. "It's a decent starting point."

"Do you know where the shop is?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort said tightly,

"The best I can hope for is Side-Along Apparition with a _very_ determined goal of the finding the place."

"Sir, would you like to taste the wine?" asked the Muggle waiter, startling Voldemort with his sudden presence. Voldemort nodded and watched as the waiter poured a dollop of purplish-red Zweigelt into his glass. He picked up the glass, breathed in the aroma of the wine, brought some between his lips, and savoured the fruity warmth. He nodded curtly and set his glass back down. The waiter poured glasses for both Voldemort and Bellatrix, and then he took two plates from the serving cart behind him. Once he'd given Bellatrix her olives and Voldemort his asparagus, he walked briskly away, and Bellatrix noted,

"I suppose they don't much care if the woman likes the wine. How uncivilised these Muggles are."

"Do not forget who I am and you are," Voldemort said sharply, sipping from his glass. "Does it matter if you like the wine, Bella, if I do not?"

Her cheeks went scarlet, and she shook her head. She stared down at her olives and blinked a few times. "I am sorry, My Lord. I will do much better remembering my place. And yours."

His stomach hurt for some inexplicable reason then, and he rather frustratedly stabbed at his asparagus. The two of them ate the entire meal in silence very occasionally punctuated by observations about the string quartet or the taste of the food. By the time they'd finished their Tafelspitz, Bellatrix was staring out the window onto the street and chewing her lip.

"I am sorry," she whispered again. "I mean you no disrespect. I never do, Master."

"Don't," he barked, so harshly that an old woman at a nearby table glanced over. Bellatrix seemed confused, and Voldemort gulped hard. He might well regret saying what he was about to say, but he couldn't quite help himself. He met Bellatrix's wide eyes and sneered quietly, "Do not call me _Master_."

She seemed more bewildered than ever then, her full lips parting as she shook her head. Voldemort felt his heart accelerating in his chest, and he decided to simply tell her the truth.

"I quite like the word from anyone else but you. Don't read too much into that; do as I command and stop calling me _Master_."

It was a profoundly conflicted message, he knew, but she took his contradictory words in stride. She smiled a little and murmured,

"I'll call you whatever pleases you. Whatever makes you happy, My Lord. Tom."

His chest twisted oddly on that last word, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to whisk Bellatrix up to their suite and take her on the bed. He'd be slow, taking his time touching every inch of her and savouring her climax before even pushing into her. He shut his eyes and tried to gather himself. Finally he managed to say stiffly,

"We ought to order dessert. I just heard someone say they have an excellent chocolate cake here."

* * *

 _February 1913_

 _Vienna, Austria_

"Slow down, Bella," Voldemort commanded as Bellatrix's fingers flew down the buttons of his tuxedo shirt. She'd already helped him shuck his jacket and waistcoat, and her gown and nearly all her undergarments were already off. But he put his hands on her shoulders and huffed again, "Slow down."

She obeyed him, breathing heavily with want as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders. His own hands pulled at the hem of her slip, guiding it up and over her head. Bellatrix controlled her movements as she unfastened the placket of his trousers, and he pulled the pins from her hair until her curls tumbled down. He kicked his trousers away and peeled off his socks, and then both of them were standing before the great wooden bed, naked and panting. Bellatrix reached on instinct for his cock, but Voldemort snatched her wrist and shook his head vehemently.

"Just look at me for a moment," he commanded her. He did not release her wrist as his eyes locked onto hers. Bellatrix tried to slow her breathing, to ignore the ache of desire in her abdomen. She stared into his cold, dark eyes, studying the nearly-black irises and his long lashes. He dragged his thumb along the inside of her wrist, and she whimpered a little. Suddenly reality started to dissolve around her. It didn't matter that they were in Vienna, or that they'd gone back in time again. It didn't matter that they were pretending at being a married couple once more. All that mattered was the feel of his fingers on the ring he'd given her. All that mattered was the angle of his jaw, the power that emanated from him. His eyes.

"Bella," he whispered, not taking his eyes from her, "I am a fool for you in a manner most unfitting for a Dark Lord."

"I'm sorry," she replied, but he shook his head.

"I don't care anymore. I can't." He lowered his face and kissed her, snaking his fingers into his hair as his lips touched hers. He brushed his mouth against Bellatrix's a few times, his movements almost maddeningly slow. He started to push a bit harder, to put more pressure behind his lips, and Bellatrix's hands landed squarely on his chest. His tongue danced along Bellatrix's bottom lip, and she shivered as she moaned,

"Oh, _please_ , My Lord…"

"You will have patience tonight, Bellatrix," he scolded her, his breath a warm puff against her. She gasped at the sensation and he took full advantage, sending his tongue between her lips and drawing circles on the roof of her mouth. Bellatrix's fingers tightened on his chest, and his kiss grew deeper than ever. He pulled her lip between his teeth and then released it with a little pop, drawing back as Bellatrix got dizzy.

"Go lie on the bed," he instructed her, and Bellatrix obeyed. She scampered up onto the high mattress, lying on her back against the myriad pillows. Voldemort stalked very slowly behind her, sitting on the bed with his legs dangling lazily over the edge. Bellatrix stared at his cock, which seemed to be wanting attention badly, but he did nothing to attend to it. Instead, he began to touch her. His right hand glided smoothly from her shoulder to her wrist and back again, then did the same on the other side. He seemed in no rush, though Bellatrix's body screamed at her to beg for penetration.

"Close your eyes and just feel me touching you, will you?" he said a bit sharply, and Bellatrix did as he said. She shut her eyes and felt him crawl up closer to her. Suddenly his hands were drifting all over her in a slow, circuitous path that went everywhere except the place between her legs. He was dusting his fingers around her thighs, stroking up her ribcage, caressing her collarbone, and lightly squeezing at her breasts. It seemed to go on forever, and was so blissfully peaceful that Bellatrix almost fell asleep. Her breath settled into a steady, deep rhythm, and all there was was the feel of his hands brushing over her.

"Beautiful," she heard him murmur. "You're very beautiful."

"Mmm… My Lord." Bellatrix felt her cheeks go warm as her eyes fluttered open. She stared up into his face, seeing power and passion in his dark eyes, and she couldn't help but touch his arms. She rubbed her fingers along his biceps, down over his elbows and around his strong forearms. He grunted quietly, and she watched his throat bob as he said in a hoarse tone,

"I am driven very nearly mad by you at times, Bella. It is a sensation I find unacceptably comfortable. Yet, attempts in the past to rid myself of you have proven fruitless."

Bellatrix had no idea what to say to such a thing, so she said the very first thing that came to her mind.

"I love you."

"I know you do," he nodded vehemently. He leaned down and kissed Bellatrix's chest, his lips dragging over her breast and suckling for a moment on her nipple. He kept going, over her flat stomach and even lower, his hands pushing her thighs apart as his face settled between her legs.

"Oh. _Oh_. My Lord…" Bellatrix was shocked by the way his mouth clamped down onto her most intimate place, by the way his tongue began to flick around her nub and draw long lines around her entrance. She impulsively grabbed at his face, trying and failing to pull him away. This was not something she'd ever imagined the Dark Lord doing to her, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But it felt so _good_ , so positively divine, that she finally gave up and just combed her fingers through his hair.

She squirmed on the bed as his tongue deepened its strokes. When he groaned against her, the vibration felt so good that Bellatrix squealed and arched her back up. When he slipped two fingers inside her to augment what his mouth was doing, it was too much. Bellatrix felt herself clenching around his fingers as he pulled her nub between his lips. Everything was warm and loud for a moment, and as she caught her breath, her nipples were almost painfully hard. She lay in silent gratitude for a few seconds, and then Voldemort rose onto his knees.

His cock took the place of his mouth, gliding smoothly into her sodden, sensitive body. He hissed through his teeth and wiped his pearlescent lips with the back of his wrist. He pulled Bellatrix's legs around his waist, encouraging her to bend her knees. He started to pump slowly where he knelt, his hands coursing around Bellatrix's torso. He filled her and pulled out, over and over, as his palms adored her ribcage and his fingers played with her breasts. In and out, in and out, smooth and slow like the most soothing breath.

That seemed to go on forever, and when at last he collapsed forward onto his hands and twitched inside of her, he pressed his lips to hers. Bella tasted herself on his lips, a little grateful that he didn't deepen the kiss. Instead he moved his lips her her ear, his breath hard and fast in the wake of his climax.

"Here we are again," he whispered, "and once more you're the only one I've got."

Bellatrix planted her hands between her lord and master's shoulder blades. She thought his old name, the one that was his alias here, but she didn't dare speak it aloud. _Tom_. Somehow, he seemed infinitely more human when she thought of him by that name. He knew that, and that was precisely why he'd gone by _Lord Voldemort_ for decades. It made him superhuman; it elevated him above the others. But he was already far beyond a mere mortal by Bellatrix's estimation, and thinking of him as _Tom_ could never change that. Perhaps he knew that much, too, for he rolled onto his back beside Bellatrix and mumbled,

"Go on. Say it."

"Tom," she whispered, studying his face as she did. He shut his eyes and looked for a moment as though he were in pain. Bellatrix quickly added, "but you are also that name that I dare not speak. You are the Dark Lord. My mast-"

"Don't," he clipped, just like he'd done in the restaurant. He opened his eyes and looked right at her, confusion written in his eyes. He gulped hard and whispered simply, "Bella…"

She had no idea what the right thing to say was then, so she just stayed silent. Finally he kissed her forehead and said softly,

"In the morning, we'll go find the broom shop… Besenfliegen. We'll start by uncovering the wizarding community in Vienna, and we'll go from there. Get some sleep in the meantime."

"Yes, My Lord." Bellatrix started to roll away from him, to give him space on the mattress, but he pulled her back and wordlessly tucked her against his own body. He shut his eyes as though signaling that there was no further need for discussion. Bellatrix laced an arm across him and cast a leg across his thighs. Then she shut her eyes and let herself melt into him, and soon enough she was utterly lost to sleep.

* * *

 _February 1913_

 _Vienna, Austria_

Voldemort shut his eyes and imagined his sixth year at Hogwarts, when Abraxas Malfoy had proudly strutted into the Slytherin common room after the Christmas holidays. He'd had a brand-new broomstick in tow, and everyone had gathered round to see the Slytherin Seeker's new gear. It was a Schnelles Holz 40, Abraxas proudly told everyone. He'd gone with his father to Vienna, to the broom shop called Besenfliegen. Even in the middle of the Muggle war, in the middle of the conflict with Grindelwald, the Malfoys had journeyed to Austria. Now Voldemort thought very hard about his jealousy regarding the Malfoys' money, about Abraxas' trip to Vienna. He thought of the shop over and over and over. Besenfliegen. Broom shop. Vienna.

"Ready?" he asked Bellatrix, and he felt her little hand slip into his.

"Ready, My Lord," she replied. He thought of the shop again. _Besenfliegen. Vienna._ Then he turned to his right and Disapparated, taking Bellatrix with him. There was a moment of dark pinching, and then they had landed cleanly on their feet.

When Voldemort opened his eyes, he found himself standing on a bustling street with Bellatrix. Before them was a narrow storefront nestled into an elegant neoclassical building. _Besenfliegen_ , it read on the metal-and-wood sign. The Muggles around them seemed to completely ignore the shop; they walked right by it and continued in their mundane conversations. Suddenly Voldemort realised he hadn't fully thought through the alibi and lie they would need to present in a broom shop. He turned to Bellatrix and told her firmly,

"You'll need to be my daughter."

She looked wholly scandalised, and she blinked a few times as she visibly struggled not to argue. Voldemort rolled his eyes and said carefully,

"I am forty-six. You are twenty-one. We can scarcely go in there enquiring about a broom for our child who's old enough to fly, can we?"

Bellatrix looked aghast. She shook her head. "No, My Lord. I suppose we can't."

"But for your younger brother…" Voldemort tipped his head. "You understand. After this, I'm Tom again."

Bellatrix frowned. "My Lord, what if the proprietor of this shop and someone else talk about us and -"

"Why don't we try to stay inconspicuous enough that perhaps we don't become Viennese gossip fodder?" Voldemort demanded sharply. He gestured toward the shop. "Come inside. We're shopping for your brother."

Bellatrix nodded and walked a step behind him as he approached the shop. He held the door for her and followed her inside as she pulled off her gloves. The bell above the door had chimed to notify the shopkeep of their arrival, and a middle-aged wizard quickly made his way out from a back room.

" _Guten Morgen!_ " he greeted in what was clearly German. He said something else, and Voldemort put on the best German accent he could to ask if they might speak English.

"English! Of course," the wizard said. "I'm Albert Kreisler. I think you are in need of a broom?"

"Indeed," Voldemort nodded. He gestured to Bellatrix and said with a measure of discomfort, "My daughter and I are looking for the swiftest broom you've got."

Kreisler put his eyebrows up and glanced at Bellatrix for a moment before asking, "Is it for you, Miss?"

"For my brother," she answered automatically. "Poor Edmund didn't make Slytherin Quidditch team this year, and he's been heartbroken since autumn. The dear boy isn't particularly gifted at Quidditch, but we were hoping that perhaps the right equipment might make a difference."

Kreisler laughed a bit and nodded. "I have just the broom in mind. Please, give me a moment to fetch it from the back."

He went back into the storage room, and Voldemort eyed Bellatrix, more than a little impressed.

"You're a bit too good at lying," he murmured softly, and Bellatrix shrugged with a cheeky little smirk.

"Just trying to be convincing… Father," she said, and Voldemort scowled.

"Don't do that," he ordered her. It was bad enough to know that he was actually old enough to be her father; he certainly didn't need her calling him that. Luckily, Kreisler came back out with an elegant, smooth-looking broomstick in his hands. It had polished brass stirrups and a matching handle, and the twigs looked quite aerodynamic. Kreisler held it out proudly and said,

"The Schnelles Holz 10. The model is a few years old, but it's still the one I recommend for those who need stability and accuracy in flight, prioritised over pure speed. What do you think?"

"Well, Bella?" Voldemort asked, cocking up an eyebrow at her. "What do you think?"

Bellatrix nodded and smiled. "I think Edmund will be on the team next year. And if he isn't, Herr Kreisler, we won't blame you. Promise."

"I like the way your daughter thinks, sir!" Kreisler laughed. "The price of the broom is twelve English Galleons, if that's how you wish to pay. It's on clearance, since it's not the latest model."

Voldemort reached into his pocket and began counting out coins on the wooden countertop. He slid the two neat piles he'd made to Kreisler, who handed over the broom with a smile.

"Are you in town for long?" he asked, and Voldemort saw his opportunity.

"For a few days, at least," he said smoothly. "We aren't very familiar with the wizarding community here. Have you any recommendations of good shops or restaurants?"

"Well, our shop here is a bit of an outlier," said Kreisler. "For the equivalent of… what is it called in London? Diagon Alley? Well, we have a wizarding street here. You just go right onto the Rosengasse here, and you turn right again on the Teinfaltstrasse. At number four, you'll see an unmarked black door with a silver knocker shaped like a hippogriff. The Muggles will be ignoring it, but if you walk through the black door, you will find the Versteckte-Strasse. That's the heart of wizarding Vienna."

"Did you catch all that, Bella?" Voldemort asked, glancing down to her.

"Right on the Rosengasse. Right on the Teinfaltstrasse. Unmarked black door at number four." She grinned up at him, and he tried not to let his gaze linger on Bellatrix for too long. He felt a surge of affection for her just now, and he reckoned it would probably show in his eyes.

"Thank you for your purchase," the wizard called Kreisler was saying. "Enjoy the rest of your stay in Vienna."

"Thank you," Voldemort nodded. He watched as Bellatrix opened her Extended bag and pushed the broom into it. That made Kreisler laugh, and he was grinning as Voldemort nodded his farewell from the doorway.

"Well, My Lord, if either of us wants to go for a good fly, we have the means now," Bellatrix said as they headed up the Rosengasse. Voldemort hesitated for a moment, then informed her,

"I've figured out flight, you know."

Bellatrix's feet paused, and she stared up at him with eyes round as saucers. Her whispering voice was filled with awe then as she asked, "You can fly?"

He nodded, feeling rather full of himself all of a sudden. He shrugged and fibbed, "It's not so difficult. Sometime I'll take you with me. No broom."

Bellatrix let out a choked sound of shock, shaking her head as she marveled quietly, "My Lord, I don't think there has ever been or will ever be anyone so powerful as you."

His heart accelerated as they turned right on the Teinfaltstrasse. She admired him so fiercely, and that made her all the more beautiful in his eyes. Soon enough they came to number four, and Voldemort stepped up to the black door with the silver hippogriff knocker. He turned to Bellatrix and said,

"Keep your ears open as we walk down the street. Listen for people talking about Grindelwald. _Complectolingua… Complectolingua._ " He cast the comprehension spell over each of them in turn, and then he turned the large silver doorknob and pushed open the black door.

When the door closed behind him, he and Bellatrix seemed to have merely turned another street corner. The Versteckte-Strasse was not a crowded, Tudor-style close like Diagon Alley. By contrast, it was a wide boulevard with an airy feel and tree-lined sidewalks.

"Much more spacious than London," Bellatrix admitted, stepping down onto the sidewalk and studying the buildings about them. There were shops for potions ingredients, quills and parchment, books, cauldrons, pets and familiars, and more. When they came to a witches' robe shop, Voldemort told Bellatrix,

"Go inside there and get a few outfits for yourself. I'm going to meander about and listen. I'll meet you back here in twenty minutes."

She nodded and said rather meaningfully, "Goodbye, Tom."

Hearing her say his name like that, especially after the charade of playing her father, made his pulse quicken. His lips felt suddenly dry, and he forced himself to answer her,

"Twenty minutes, Bella."

He spent that time walking up and down the sidewalks, going into the bookshop to browse, and eyeing the merchandise in a sweet shop. There, in the Konditoren, he heard two witches chatting as they assembled baskets of baked goods and chocolates.

"I've heard there's a new troublemaker about," said one grey-haired witch to the other. "Some man called Grindelwald. Thinks he's the next great Dark Lord or some such thing."

"Pah. There's always one, isn't there?" the other witch mused. "The Muggle Sigmund Freud would tell you that Grindelwald is accounting for a shortcoming somewhere else!"

They both giggled and began talking about one witch's daughter getting married. Voldemort frowned as he stepped out of the sweet shop. So, Grindelwald was not yet powerful. He was still a bit of a laughingstock, at least among the general magical populace. If Voldemort did manage to meet up with Grindelwald in this time, he would appear to be in pursuit of an unimpressive movement. But Voldemort remembered his own early days, the days when he'd first insisted everyone stop calling him Tom Riddle. He remembered the way people scoffed at him, the way he'd had to beg, borrow, and steal funds and housing and support. He'd clawed his way to where he was in 1973. Doubtlessly, Grindelwald had had to do the same. If Voldemort could edge into Grindelwald's movement in its early days, he thought, perhaps the two could be allies.

But, then, they hadn't been allies in 1973, and suddenly Voldemort realised something. To change the past - to make himself a notable figure in Grindelwald's life - might endanger the reality he'd left behind. Perhaps if Tom Riddle became allies with Grindelwald, or killed him, or did anything so radical as that, there would be no Lord Voldemort. Perhaps Bellatrix would never be born. Perhaps Dumbledore's path would be changed. There was a reason, after all, that massive leaps in time travel were illegal under nearly all Magical governments.

No, Voldemort thought to himself… he was here for observation. He was supposed to watch, to learn, to see how exactly it was that Grindelwald went from a nobody to a feared villain. And he was meant to do so with Bellatrix, because he was meant to have her back in the 1970s. As for who was orchestrating all of this, Voldemort could not help but wonder if perhaps there was no _who_. Perhaps this simply was. Perhaps it was a simple fact that he was a silent apprentice of Grindelwald so that he could thrash his way to ultimate glory in the 1970s.

He stared across the Versteckte-Strasse to the robe shop where Bellatrix had gone. She was waiting outside with garment bags over her arm, and as he crossed the street to her, he itched to get back to the Hotel Sacher. He took the garment bags from Bellatrix when he walked up to her and held out his arm.

"Let's go," he murmured furtively. "We have much to discuss."

Her eyes were wide and curious as she snared her hand beneath his sleeve. As soon as he knew he had her, Voldemort Disapparated, coming to in the parlour of their elegant suite. Then he began to explain his revelations to the witch whose fate seemed inseparable from his.


	9. Chapter 9

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"We're going to play a game tonight," The Dark Lord said as he and Bellatrix stepped into their suite. Bellatrix began pulling her hat off, feeling almost uncomfortably full from their delicious meal in the hotel restaurant.

"A game, My Lord?" she repeated, hanging her hat on the rack near the door and pulling off her gloves. Voldemort unbuttoned and pulled off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it over one of the blue velvet sofas. His waistcoat quickly joined the jacket, and then Bellatrix watched as he carefully pulled out the glass cufflinks she'd made him at Christmas. He tucked them into his trouser pocket and kicked off his shoes before rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

"Come and sit with me," he ordered her, flicking his wand at the fireplace to light it. He sank onto one of the sofas, and Bellatrix sat on the one opposite him. Voldemort dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and said, "You did such a fine job of lying to the man in the broom shop. I wonder, Bella, can you lie to me?"

She felt her mouth drop open, and her corset stifled her ability to take a deep, steadying breath. She shrugged and admitted, "I'm sure you can always tell a truth from a lie, My Lord."

"I want you to try," he said rather seriously. "Try and keep from what I want. More than that, replace it with a lie. A complete fabrication."

Bellatrix furrowed her brows, feeling confused, but the Dark Lord leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and whispered, "Legilimens."

Suddenly Bellatrix found herself building thick clouds of choking smoke in her mind. She felt him reach for a specific notion, a feeling, and she shoved him away with a cacophony of light and sound. In the hotel parlour, his eyes narrowed and a little smile crossed his lips. He reached for that same feeling again, and Bellatrix realised what it was. He wanted to see what she truly thought about Rodolphus Lestrange. She was tempted to let him see the truth, but that wasn't the game he'd planned. Instead, Bellatrix did the first thing she found herself able to do. She blocked his access to her real feelings with a scene that played like something out a dreadful romance novel.

"Oh, Bella," Rodolphus mused, walking on a tree-shaded path in the summertime, "I daresay I've lucked out in the matchmaking department. You're beautiful. You're strong. You're intelligent."

Bellatrix blushed, her voice meek and stammering as she grinned and said, "W-well… it's me who's lucky, really. Most people don't like me, you see, much less men with a romantic interest. I suppose I frighten them away. And, in any case, I couldn't have asked for a more handsome husband."

"May I kiss you, Bella?" Rodolphus asked. Bellatrix nodded, and he took her face in his hands and lowered his lips to hers. She moaned softly at the taste of him - cinnamon and vanilla - and her hands went to the front of his shirt.

"Enough!" barked Voldemort. Bellatrix snapped to rights, realising that her master's face had gone beet red, almost purple. His chest heaved a little, and he shook his head, sounding angry. "You could have lied in the other direction. You could have pretended to despise him entirely. I know what the truth is. You think he's good-looking and would make a perfectly fine husband if it weren't for me. But your lie didn't need to consist of him kissing you, of him calling you Bella."

His hand shook a little on the arm of the sofa, and Bellatrix was overwhelmed with confused guilt. She knitted her fingers in her lap and said quietly, "I'm sorry I was playing wrong, My Lord."

"Again," he sneered through gritted teeth. "This time, don't you dare taunt me, Bellatrix."

She felt fear go through her veins, but she nodded. He entered her mind with a nonverbal incantation that sent her head whirling. She had to rush to put up walls that he promptly smashed down. She enveloped her consciousness in velvety black, empty night, but she could still feel him reaching for a memory. She fought him off, seeing the scene playing out in the back of her mind. She wasn't sure how she was meant to turn this particular scene into a lie without angering him again, but she substituted where she could and shoved the new version forward.

"Do you love me, Bellatrix?" he asked her, and she drew up a bit to look at him.

"Oh, yes, My Lord," she said, and it was the truth. "I love you more than anything. I adore your power, your -"

"Perhaps I did not phrase my question properly," Voldemort interjected, his voice harsh. "Let me try again. Are you in love with me?"

Bellatrix needed the answer that wasn't going to lead to a blinding flash of jade green light, but she couldn't lie now.

"Yes, My Lord," she finally said. "I'm in love with you. Will I be killed for it?"

"Yes, you will," he said, reaching for his wand and touching the tip to Bellatrix's throat. "You know I could never allow such presumption from a mere loyal dog. You are not worthy of a second glance from me, much less -"

"Enough." Voldemort's voice was far gentler this time, and as he pulled out of Bellatrix's mind, she saw him shut his eyes for a moment. His fingers tightened around his knees, and he said quietly, "You know I'd never kill you. Not for a thing like that."

"But, My Lord, you told me to change the memories. I put forth the opposite of what happened. Forgive me, but I'm not sure how to play this game in a way that makes you happy." Bellatrix pulled the blue throw pillow from beside her onto her lap and hugged it self-consciously.

"The game is over," Voldemort snapped. He met her eyes and told Bellatrix, "I wanted to see if your Occlumency skills were advanced enough to alter memories. They are. Good. Experiment finished. Mission accomplished. Go take your bath."

Bellatrix didn't question him. She set the pillow down and rose, walking briskly through the bedroom into the elegant tiled bathroom. She set the bathtub to filling and used her wand to unfasten the back of her dress. She struggled with the busk of her corset and her excessive undergarments. Once it was all Banished to the wardrobe, she made her way into the bathroom and sank into the tub of hot water. She scrubbed her skin with Marseille soap and a wash rag and then just sat, wondering what she could have done differently to avoid displeasing the Dark Lord so much.

"I was expecting you to shove forth a childhood memory or a fantasy of some kind," said a voice from behind her. Bellatrix turned to see Voldemort ambling into the bathroom, his hands in his trouser pockets. He shrugged and leaned up against the wall as he said, "For what it's worth, the skill you exhibited is more advanced. More nuanced. You isolated the thought I wanted, and you tweaked it just enough that someone else might not sense a lie. If I didn't know you well, those could have been real. And that's why they displeased me."

Bellatrix sighed and sat up a bit straighter in the water. She used her eyes to plead with him, knowing he'd read the desperation on her face. "Please, My Lord, will you look in my mind now? Only truth this time. Promise."

He sucked on his lip for a moment, and then Bellatrix felt the insistent push of his presence in her mind. She shoved forth memories of being curled up beside him in bed. She pushed forward images of battle, of them both giddy with victory or bruised up from a nasty fight. She showed him the way she daydreamed about him, the way his piano playing had set her pulse racing. She sent him the many instances in which she'd studied her ring or her necklace and teared up with pride and gratitude.

When at last he pulled out of her head, the bath water had faded to lukewarm, and Bellatrix pulled out the drain. She rose from the water and started to climb from the bath. He was there in a flash with a towel to wrap around her, and then he kissed her until she was dizzy and warm. Suddenly the truth was screaming inside her head, aching and fighting to be released. Bellatrix swallowed hard and finally murmured,

"My Lord, I need to tell you something."

He looked a bit concerned for a half second, then shrugged. "What is it?"

"I do love you," Bellatrix said, feeling more anxious than she could ever remember feeling. "I am in love with you. And I meant it when you asked me. I was in love then, too. But not like this. Nothing like this."

Voldemort licked his bottom lip, his features stony. "How do you mean?"

Bellatrix knew what she was about to say may actually get her killed. He could say he wouldn't kill her for loving him, but he didn't know…

"I love you not just as my master," Bellatrix began, lowering her eyes as she found herself unable to look at him. She started rambling then, knowing she must sound like a madwoman. "Though, of course, you are a merciful master and a frighteningly powerful wizard.. I respect you, I honour you, I worship and adore you with all that I am for the Dark Lord that you are. But I love… how to say this? I do not just love the Dark Lord. I love Tom. I love the human man that you are. I love the smell of your shaving cream in the morning. I love the feel of your stubble late at light. I love the sound of your heartbeat and the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I love your subtle sense of humour. I love the way you touch me, as though I'm made of glass and steel all at once. I love everything about the Dark Lord, and I love everything about… about…"

"About Tom," Voldemort finished. He tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were colder then than she'd ever seen them. He said nothing for so long that Bellatrix very nearly dissolved into a puddle of humiliated, frightened tears. Instead, she just stared up at him, wondering if he would excommunicate her or kill her or both. She was utterly shocked, then, when he touched his lips to her forehead and began to speak quietly.

"I confess that when I hear of love, it is from an outsider's perspective. It is not a sensation I treasure, and not one I believe myself capable of experiencing. But I believe you. I believe everything you say, because… there is a palpable difference between what existed when I first asked you that question and what exists now?"

"And will I be cast out, Tom?" Bellatrix dared to asked, raising her eyes to him. He looked surprised that she'd so brazenly used his name, but his hands went to her cheeks, and he shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "No. You'll… be drawn nearer, I suppose. I don't see as I have any choice. What I feel toward you transcends any emotional bond I in which I had thought myself desirous or capable of participating. Besides, you're all I've got. Even when I've got dozens of Death Eaters kissing my boots… really, truly, at the end of it all, you're all I've got. So, no. You won't be killed. You won't cast out. You'll be kissed."

He was true to his word then, kissing Bellatrix again as the towel fell from her body. His hands were all over her as the kiss deepened. Tomorrow evening, they were going back to the Versteckte-Strasse. They'd be eavesdropping about Grindelwald under the guise of shopping. They'd be getting a copy of the wizarding newspaper. They'd sit in the pub and casually ask about the young troublemaker they'd been hearing about. When the Dark Lord was satisfied that he'd learnt enough, that the purpose of this mysterious travel had been fulfilled, they would use Gnavigo Charms on an object again and hurtle themselves back to Blaize Bailey in 1973.

But that would all come later. For tonight, he was carrying her naked body into the bedroom, murmuring something about her being beautiful and his.

* * *

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"I remember when you were born."

Bellatrix stared up curiously from where she lay, her thick brows furrowing as she blinked herself awake.

"You… remember when I was born?" she repeated. Then she laughed a little and asked, "Was I that important?"

"You were, as it happens," Voldemort replied, dusting his fingers over the frizz that had come loose of Bellatrix's single braid. He studied her pale cheeks, her dark eyes, and he said, "I was finishing up working at Borgin and Burke's, more than ready to move on in life. Anyway… in September of 1951, we had several wealthy customers come in looking for a unique gift to celebrate the birth of a particularly noble child. The newest member of the House of Black, the firstborn of a Rosier woman. This was big news in the Pureblood world, and I paid close attention."

"What presents could they possibly buy a baby at Borgin and Burke's, My Lord?" Bellatrix wondered, pulling herself up onto one elbow. He smirked and said tartly,

"The gifts were for your parents, not for you. I remember Abraxas Malfoy coming in; I'd known him in school. I helped him pick out a grandfather clock that I enchanted to chime out nine times on every single hour. Nine times for nine letters. B-E-L-L-A-T-R-I-X."

She grinned widely and shook her head. "And all my life, I've thought that bloody clock was broken!"

Voldemort sighed. "It wasn't my finest work. I'll admit that. But Abraxas seemed pleased enough. And then one day your mother came into the shop looking for… oh, I believe she was looking for a lucky totem of some kind or another. She had you in her arms."

"Was I a very good baby?" Bellatrix asked, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I know nothing of children now and I knew even less then," he said. "But you didn't cry, and your eyes took up half your face."

Bellatrix's cheeks went pink, and she said demurely, "I've always had bug eyes."

"Large, beautiful eyes," he corrected her. Then he shut his eyes and mused, "I don't think I saw you again until just after you'd left Hogwarts, when you came scrambling to me begging to become a Death Eater."

"I'd never wanted anything more in all my life," she informed him. He reached for her forearm, dragging his fingertips over her Mark and hearing her hiss a little at the sensation of his magic going through the brand. He took a deep breath, relaxing back against the pillows, and said,

"We should go to the shops twice today. Get two different crowds to overhear."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said obediently. But then he felt her naked body slithering up around his, and when he opened his eyes, she'd straddled him and was pulling his fingers between her legs. She was soaking wet there, and she said a bit breathlessly, "It's from you touching my arm."

He chuckled, unable to help himself from reaching for her arm again. He used one hand to drag his fingers around her satin folds, and the other massaged her Dark Mark. Bellatrix tipped her head back and moaned a little.

"You like that," he noted. "It feels good when your lord caresses your mark of loyalty, doesn't it?"

"Mm-hmm…" Bellatrix nodded, grinding her hips rather insistently against his hand. He'd gone fully hard now, and he pulled the blankets back a little. He encouraged her onto his cock, grunting with delight at the feel of her warm and snug around him. She began to rock back and forth, up and down, slowly but shakily. Voldemort stared at her arm, watching her Dark Mark sear black beneath his fingers. She moaned as he continued to touch her there, and it sent a powerful shock through his veins. He used his left hand to paw at her breasts, to squeeze her waist and rub her hips. But his attentions - and hers - were focused on her forearm, on the Mark he'd put upon her. Soon enough, Voldemort was dizzy and tense, and his hand wrapped tightly around her forearm as he came. He was distantly aware of her finishing, of her body clenching around his length. He could hear her voice wordlessly pleading in the quiet room. He shut his eyes until the flood of pleasure had washed over him, and he let his hand fall from her arm.

"Oh," she whispered, still panting, "I had no idea it could… that you could…"

"Neither did I," he admitted. His head was spinning more than usual, and he had to wonder what exactly had just transpired. It seemed odd that the simple act of him touching her Dark Mark could set them both aflame, but that seemed to be exactly what had happened.

"I should… go clean up a little… before I get dressed for the shops," Bellatrix noted, and Voldemort just nodded. Once she'd gone, he looked at his own arm, at the Master Dark Mark, and saw that it, too, had flushed jet black. He blinked a few times, thinking that there were far more questions than answers these days.

* * *

"Do you know," Voldemort said, gesturing toward the shop called Kupferkesseln ahead of them, "I think I need a new cauldron."

Bellatrix smiled a bit to herself. "Has yours rusted out, My Lord?"

"Don't call me that here," he hissed, looking angry as he paused and glared down at her. Bellatrix shrank away a little and prepared to stammer an apology, but he took her hand in his and said rather firmly, "If we are to avoid suspicion, then I am simply your husband Tom. Understood?"

"Yes, My… ah. Sorry. Yes, Tom. Understood." It was such habit for Bellatrix to be deferential around him that she could hardly stop herself from doing so. She felt a little squeeze around her fingers as they walked into the cauldron shop, and she was surprised by the way he didn't let her go. He established with the shopkeep that they were English and that they were just browsing for now, and they began pretending to care about the copper cauldrons on display.

"This one has a hammered finish on the outside," Voldemort noted blandly, "which is especially good for brewing up potions that are at risk of solidifying."

"I had a hammered finish cauldron in school," Bellatrix said. She smirked a little. "Only the best for the Black sisters."

"I had a school-owned tin monstrosity that very nearly caused me to blow up the entire Potions classroom in my fourth year." He glanced at her and shrugged. "Only the worst for the orphans."

Bellatrix blinked and gulped. She was overwhelmed by how human he seemed just now, telling her to call him Tom and holding her hand and discussing his orphaned childhood. Bellatrix decided not to push that any further. She stared up at him and asked,

"Which potions do you suppose might benefit from the hammered exterior?"

He tipped his head. "Veritaserum would be one. It needs to stay slick and thin, but it can turn into gel in the wrong…"

Suddenly he stopped, his eyes flicking toward the shop's door. Two wizards in their twenties walked in, and Voldemort seemed to be concentrating hard.

"Talk about Confusing Concoction," he whispered quickly. He ignored her entirely then, and she realised he was lost in the young wizards' minds. Bellatrix rambled, glancing between the cauldron and her master.

"Confusion Concoction is another one that might benefit from the… from the dimpled interior of the… cauldron. Seeing as how it tends to… erm, make a paste. If you're not careful." Bellatrix watched as Voldemort deliberately stepped in the path of one of the young wizards.

"Oh, pardon me," he said very deliberately, feigning a polite smile. The wizard smiled back, far more genuinely, and said,

"You are English."

"Guilty," Lord Voldemort said, putting up his hands defensively. He laughed a little and held up the copy of the Austrian wizarding newspaper he'd grabbed when he and Bellatrix had first come onto the street. "May I ask you something, if you have a quick moment?"

"Certainly," said the wizard. The other one eyed Bellatrix, and when she met his vibrant blue eyes, he smiled and nodded. He didn't understand English. Bellatrix didn't need her master's Legilimency skills to tell that. But she could tell that the right thing to do was to smile back, so she did.

"I wonder if you might tell me a bit about this man mentioned here." Voldemort pointed to a column on the third page of the newspaper. "This Gellert Grindelwald. It says he's an Englishman. Do you know anything about him?"

The wizard speaking to Voldemort smiled more broadly then. He tipped his chin up and said rather proudly,

"Gellert Grindelwald has come to the continent to do his important work."

"What work is that?" Voldemort asked, and the tall blond wizard said,

"He wishes to redraw the lines that have been so terribly blurred. The lines between the Magical world and the world lacking in Magic. The fates and happenings of witches and wizards have become entangled with those of useless… well, you call them Muggles, yes?"

Voldemort nodded. He tucked the newspaper away. "And what does Mr Grindelwald hope to accomplish by separating the worlds?"

"Four simple words will tell you all you need to know," said the blond wizard, his eyes crinkling with happiness. "For the greater good. But don't take my word for it. We meet on Saturday evenings in the building across the street. Third floor. Why don't you come and hear our message for yourself?"

Voldemort smiled and turned to Bellatrix. "If my wife will devote a Saturday evening to politics."

"Of course, darling," Bellatrix nodded. "It sounds fascinating."

"We'll see you then," said the blond wizard happily. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a cauldron to buy."

* * *

"They're so open," Bellatrix mused, pacing before the blue velvet sofa where Voldemort sat. He nodded. He'd observed the same thing.

"They aren't just open, though," he noted. "They're sophisticated and delicate in recruiting. There's nothing hamfisted, nothing frightening. At least not yet. Perhaps we need more nuance in our own time."

"Whatever you think is best, My Lord." Bellatrix's steps paused, and she dragged her teeth over her lip. "You think that's why we're here, then? To observe and to improve your mission in the seventies?"

He nodded silently. He still had no idea who had sent them here, or what, or why it had been done. All he had were misty theories and his own intuition. And Bellatrix.

If he had nothing else at all, he considered, at least he had Bellatrix. And for some frightening reason, as he cast his eyes up and down her form, he realised that she was very nearly enough all on her own. He sighed and met her dark eyes, and he asked in an airy tone,

"How about lunch, then?"

* * *

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

The meeting room was calming, almost soothing, with its pale stained glass windows and its cheery white paint. The long table in the centre had petit fours and platters of fruit, and a house-elf was doling out coffee and wine. It was almost eerie, Voldemort thought as he held out a chair for Bellatrix. It was almost too quiet, too devoid of tension or anger.

"Good evening," said a voice, and when Voldemort turned, the blond wizard he'd met in the cauldron shop had come into the room. He extended his arms and said, "If you would all take a seat so we can begin our meeting. I hope English will do for tonight; we have visitors from many countries with us."

Voldemort glanced around him. There were skin tones from darkest brown to palest white. There were features and clothing that belied a variety of cultures. He sat beside Bellatrix and turned his attention to the front of the room, determined to fly under the radar tonight. He folded his hands on the table and watched as the blond wizard put his hands on the back of his own chair.

"Welcome to the Society for the Greater Good. For those of you who have not met me, my name is Tobias Klor. I speak to you on behalf of Gellert Grindelwald, who is, as we speak, in Germany promoting his message. Now… is there anyone here who is not familiar with the message of Gellert Grindelwald?"

Mercifully, a few other hands went up, so Voldemort and Bellatrix sat in silent stillness. Tobias Klor nodded and flicked his wand toward a stack of parchments on the table before him. The parchments - pamphlets, as it turned out - began fluttering about the table and landing in front of the dozen or so assembled. Voldemort picked his up and watched as the printed words shifted from German to English.

"Let us take this pamphlet point by point," said Tobias Klor. "The first point, you will see, is that non-Magical people - Muggles, as they are called in English - are actually done a great disservice by the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Does anyone have ideas as to why that might be so?"

Beside Voldemort, Bellatrix's hands twitched around her leaflet. An elderly wizard opposite Voldemort raised his hand tentatively and said in a heavy Greek accent,

"The Muggles do not even realise how powerful the Magical among them are. In certain circumstances, perhaps Magic might be used to cure some evils of non-Magical humanity. But they don't even know."

"Precisely," said Tobias Klor with a broad smile. Voldemort frowned; the old man's answer to the question hadn't made any sense. Yet Klor was pretending it had. Klor paced a few steps and said enthusiastically, "By our community's having been imbued with such broad and unending power, we have also been given the responsibility to reign peacefully and mercifully over those who lack our abilities. Just because Muggles are primitive in their nature and are weak does not give us the right to trample all over them. But by living in secret, we actually do just that. We keep the Muggles unaware of the fact that there is a superior population who are willing to benevolently rule over them. Questions?"

Bellatrix looked very tempted, but Voldemort reached beneath the table and squeezed her knee to discourage her from speaking. When no one asked a question, Tobias Klor carried on,

"In point number two, you can see that there is a need for a unified wizarding world. Arbitrary national borders are subject to Muggle wars and conflicts that redraw Magical government jurisdictions. Why, we ask, should witches and wizards be separated by such ridiculous notions as national boundaries? Instead, we should be one unified people the whole world over."

"And Gellert Grindelwald means to sit atop us all, then?" asked a thin, middle-aged witch further down the table. She was Scottish, and Voldemort slipped into her mind to identify her. He couldn't get a name, but he knew she was in Vienna specifically to find out more about Grindelwald. She was deeply sceptical of his motives. Tobias Klor smiled at her and said warmly,

"Gellert Grindelwald does not mean to sit atop anybody. Instead, he means to lead the parade of righteous, united Magical people. We can not have chaos or anarchy, but Grindelwald wishes to be seen as an elder brother, not as a cruel father. And when the time is right, he will be more than willing to pass the baton to the next parade marshall. Does that make sense?"

The Scottish witch shifted where she sat and said tightly, "Then he does not aspire to a dictatorship or a monarchy?"

Tobias Klor actually laughed then. "A monarchy? No, no. Very much the opposite. He does not believe in inequality among the Magical. Instead, he wants to elevate us all. Together. For the greater good."

It was a very roundabout answer, and one Voldemort did not reckon was entirely truthful. But it had been so expertly delivered that he himself very nearly believed in Grindelwald's supposed benevolence. Voldemort stared at the leaflet before him, wondering why it had never really occurred to him to use strategies like this - printed propaganda, calm recruitment efforts, and the public spinning of information.

"We always keep these meetings brief, for many reasons," said Tobias Klor, "but we will meet again this upcoming Saturday. Same time and place. Next time, we will discuss Gellert Grindelwald's plans to achieve his goal. If you have any questions in the meantime, my contact information is at the bottom of the page. Go in peace, friends, until we meet again. For the Greater Good!"

"For the Greater Good," repeated most of those around the table. Voldemort took Bellatrix's leaflet and folded it with his, sticking it into his suit pocket. There was a low, dull murmur as everyone rose and began talking quietly among themselves. Tobias Klor walked right up to Voldemort and extended his hand.

"My friend," he said, "how good it is to see you and your… pardon me, is this lovely witch your wife?"

"She is," Voldemort said, shaking Klor's hand and then clasping his fingers together before her. "I am… Tom Riddle. This is my wife, Bellatrix."

"An honour it is to meet you properly, Madam Riddle," said Tobias Klor, taking Bellatrix's hand and kissing her gloved knuckles. He stood upright and asked lightly, "Will you still be in town for our meeting next week?"

Voldemort kept his voice unaffected as he said, "We had intended upon returning to Britain, but have decided to stay a while, owing to our interest in Mr Grindelwald's fledgling little movement. We quite like what we've heard."

Klor grinned. "Marvelous. Please do contact me should you have any questions. Next week, Mr Grindelwald himself will be attending our meeting; he'll be back from Germany. I'm sure he'd love to meet you."

Voldemort knew his eyes had flashed, and beside him, Bellatrix shifted on her feet.

"What a spectacular thing it shall be," she said demurely, "to meet a wizard whose head is so full of vision. I look forward to it."

"Until then." Klor bowed politely and walked away. Bellatrix took Voldemort's extended arm, and the two of them Disapparated as the others were doing.

Back in their suite at the Hotel Sacher, he explained his interest in the patient, quiet tactics of Grindelwald's surrogates. They talked for a while until Voldemort's stomach began to rumble, and he and Bellatrix changed into more formal dinner clothes. On their way down the main staircase, Voldemort became aware of a flurry of movement in the ballroom to their right. He paused, and Bellatrix breathed in wonder,

"They're dancing."

"Yes; the hotel hosts dancing each night," Voldemort said with a little sigh. "We've missed it so far; we've been back up in the suite before it started."

Bellatrix stared into the room as an elegant Viennese waltz spun through the hotel's lobby. Piano and strings joined together to make an alluring sound.

"Oh, My Lord." Bellatrix turned her shimmering eyes to him. "Just one dance. Please."

He rolled his eyes. "A song or two. I'm famished."

He led her down the rest of the stairs and into the ballroom. His hands settled on her, one wrapping around her fingers and the other sitting flat on her back. Her black-gloved hand went up to his shoulder, and they began to move.

One-two-three, one-two-three, Voldemort thought, trying to keep his motions smooth and polished.

"The last time I danced with you was at Narcissa's wedding," Bellatrix noted, "almost sixty years from now."

"Isn't it so very odd that time does not, as we believed, move in a continuous line?" Voldemort mused. His hand tightened on Bellatrix's back as he added, "As it turns out, time is a river of sorts. Flowing, but often muddied. Littered with sticks and stones and other detritus that mars its smooth progress. Tributaries and streams that break away and perhaps circle back."

Bellatrix nodded, her lips curling up a little as she said, "If it weren't for those rogue little streams, My Lord, I don't suppose I would be dancing with you like this. And so I find myself very grateful for the imperfections in the river."

He shut his eyes as the song ended. He bowed and opened his eyes to see Bellatrix dipping into a little curtsy. She sounded bolder than he'd ever heard her then, as her eyes welled and her brave little smile grew more crooked.

"One more waltz, Tom?"


	10. Chapter 10

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"When will we go home, do you think?" Bellatrix asked, bringing her small glass of apple juice to her lips. She stared across the little café to where a pianist played lilting, pleasant music.

"Soon," Voldemort told her in a low voice. "I've already made several powerful observations whose lessons I wish to take back with me. I'm still debating whether we'll even stay until Saturday."

Bellatrix set down her juice and frowned at him. "You don't want to meet Grindelwald himself, My Lord?"

He rapped his knuckles gently on the tablecloth and murmured, "I don't think it's wise. He was reputed to be a Seer, and if he's a Legilimens, it may be difficult for us both to block absolutely everything. It would seem to me as though protecting the future as we know it is of paramount importance."

Bellatrix would have been lying then if she'd said she wasn't a bit disappointed. Of course, it wasn't as though she'd ever be able to go about telling people she'd met Grindelwald, but… still.

"I mean to meet him in our own time," Voldemort said suddenly, and Bellatrix snapped her face to him. He shrugged, the sunlight pouring through the glass window beside him and washing over his face. He sipped from his cup of coffee and then said, "If I don't want to change the endpoint of our known timeline, I should go from there. Ask him where things went wrong. There's always more to learn."

"You mean to go to Nurmengard, My Lord?" Bellatrix breathed, and he nodded. He looked down at his coffee, stirring it slowly with a tiny spoon. He sniffed and said, "It's not as though I'll be going alone, though I'm sure I'd handle things just fine. In any case, I shall have a rather powerful and exceedingly loyal lieutenant with me."

Bellatrix felt her eyes burn. She swallowed hard and told him, "I'll always go wherever you need me to be."

"I know." He set down his coffee as the pianist started up a new song. He was silent for a moment, and Bellatrix studied his stern face that seemed to be carved from stone. The din in the café was enough that she felt confident saying quietly,

"I look forward to going back to a time where you are as widely respected and feared as you ought to be."

"But we weren't there yet, were we?" He dragged his teeth over his lip, still looking at his coffee. "We'll get there soon enough. I won't stop until I have everything, Bella."

"I know you won't, My Lord." She felt a strong stirring in her chest, a swell of love for him in every imaginable way. She knew she sounded cloying then as she poked at her relish and salad and added, "I will contribute, in whatever minuscule way I can, to helping you get all you deserve."

"Oh, Bella." His voice was a little husky then. Bellatrix felt him curl his hand around her left arm, and she watched as he pulled their hands to the space between their chairs. She gasped a little as he pushed down her elbow length glove, edging it down to her wrist with a push of his fingers. Their arms were hidden from everyone else in the restaurant by the tablecloth, but Bellatrix felt fully exposed when his fingertips drifted over her Dark Mark.

She struggled not to moan aloud as he traced the outline of the Mark. His thumb pressed against the skull, and his middle finger dragged around the serpent. He may as well have been fingering her between her legs, Bellatrix thought. She was just as dizzy as if he'd been doing that. She'd gone just as wet; her pulse raced just as quickly. She shut her eyes and swallowed hard, trying to focus on the piano music. She wondered how exactly it was that this phenomenon had come to be. She remembered other times that his hand had touched her here, but it had never felt quite as powerful as in these last few days. It was almost as if some additional connection had been forged, another layer on top of the master/servant symbiosis the Mark itself established.

"My Lord…" Her voice shook between her teeth as his thumb ran up and down her forearm. When she forced her eyes open and looked at him, she was alarmed. His dark eyes glittered and his lips were parted. His gaze was locked on her, examining her face and her chest and then moving down to her arm. Bellatrix groaned softly, grateful for the others' conversations and for the piano. She squirmed where she sat, for a very insistent throb had blossomed between her thighs. She panted, wishing she hadn't been wearing a corset. She needed to gasp, to take a full breath against the feel of this.

"Can you feel me?" she heard him ask, and she nodded frantically. But then his thumb pressed more deliberately against her, and he specified, "Can you feel me, Bella?"

"Oh." She nodded again, turning her eyes to him as everything started to knot and tense inside of her. "Yes, My Lord. I feel you. I do."

And she did, truly. It was like his magic was flowing through her veins with her blood now, as if his touch had unveiled a part of him she'd never seen or experienced before. This all felt dangerous and vulnerable, but also pleasurable beyond belief. Suddenly Bellatrix snatched the edge of the table, gripping it tightly in both her hands. Everything had gone so warm, so tense, and she was right on the verge of -

"Go ahead, Bella," he breathed, sounding a bit unhinged. She wrenched her eyes shut and came right there, her womanhood clenching and her ears ringing. A general sense of wellbeing smacked her like an ocean wave breaking. She must look a sight, she thought distantly. The Muggles in the hotel's café probably thought something was medically wrong with her, for she was hunched over a little. She breathed in desperate, shallow puffs and only partially suppressed the moan of satisfaction that escaped her lips. When it was all over, she opened her eyes to find the Dark Lord staring at her like she was a steak and he was a starving man.

"Go up to the suite," he said in a tight voice that left no room for debate. "Go. Now."

Bellatrix felt confused fear come over her. She wasn't sure if he was banishing her because of his anger or because of his own arousal. But she did as she'd always done; she obeyed him. She rose on shaking legs, adjusting her glove back up to her elbow. She gave him a little curtsy and murmured, "My Lord."

Then she left, still lost in the surreal way his mere touch had taken her to paradise.

* * *

She was like whiskey to a drunk, like opium to an addict. She was poison and medicine all at once, and as Voldemort quickly ascended the stairs to their suite, he reckoned that he probably didn't even have it in him to kill her even if he'd wanted to do so. He couldn't care. She was all he had here, and when they went back to their own time, she would help him encounter Grindelwald at Nurmengard.

Without these unexplained trips to the past, he never would have become her lover. And, really, that was what he felt like now. He was still her master. She was still his servant. But she looked at him and spoke to him in a way that would have earned anyone else a Cruciatus Curse at minimum. Day by day, her fawning deference was giving way to a strangely mutual accord. Voldemort wanted to hate that. He wanted to punish her for it. But he'd already tried giving her to Rodolphus Lestrange, and he'd been unable to do so. He wanted her. He needed her. And so she was like a drug, one he wasn't willing or able to give up.

His fingers shook wildly as he tried to put his key into the suite's door. He'd waited ten minutes after Bellatrix had left, trying to gather himself and to let his erection fade enough to walk in public. She'd driven him to the edge with the way she'd climaxed from the mere touch of his fingers on her Mark. It wasn't just her breathing or her flushed cheeks that had done him in. It had been the way his touch on his Mark had facilitated such a reaction in her. It had been the way he'd felt his magic flowing into her and hers back into him. It had been a sensation unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and Lord Voldemort considered himself to be quite the connoisseur of magical experiences.

"Damn it all," he muttered, shoving his key back into his pocket and whipping out his wand. "Alohomora."

The weak Muggle lock clicked open at once, and Voldemort pushed the door open. He slammed it behind him and barked,

"Bellatrix!"

She appeared in the doorway of their bedroom, her thick hair brought over one shoulder in a braid. She'd taken her clothes off and had put on a simple black wrap robe, probably because she hadn't known what was expected of her when her lord and master came upstairs. She'd thought correctly, Voldemort thought, in ridding herself of her cumbersome corset and the endless layers of cloth this era demanded of women.

Suddenly his hands were yanking at the tie on her robe and shoving it away, and her fingers were flying down the placket of his trousers. She took him out carefully and began to stroke, but Lord Voldemort's body had no time for foreplay. He didn't even have time to take her all the way into the bedroom. Instead, he hauled her by her waist and slammed her roughly against the parlour wall, her head crashing against the blue damask wallpaper. He muttered a halfhearted apology, but she just wrapped her arms around his shoulders and braced her knees around his hips.

He entered her with ease, for she was still wet for him. He kissed her madly, knowing he tasted of coffee and food and not caring. She tasted sweet, like the apple juice she'd been drinking. She tasted like Bellatrix. Her fingers toyed with the back of his suit coat as he pumped himself into her, and her thighs squeezed around him. It lasted only a moment, for Voldemort had whipped himself into a frenzy down in the café. He was finishing inside of her before he knew it, groaning against her neck and nearly dropping her right onto the floor.

"We're going home," he mumbled finally, using his weight to pin her against the wall as he slipped out of her. "I've learnt enough. We're going home."

"As you wish, My Lord," Bellatrix answered breathlessly. He pulled his face back to study hers. He tucked a curl behind her ear and shook his head.

"You still can't marry Rodolphus Lestrange," he ordered her, and she smiled warmly.

"As you wish, Tom."

* * *

February 1913

Vienna, Austria

"There is, perhaps, something I ought to tell you before I begin casting the spells."

"There is?" Bellatrix looked up from the gold Galleon she'd been staring at. It was their object of choice for the Gnavigo Charms that would carry them back to their time. Bellatrix frowned curiously as Voldemort took a long, shaking breath.

"Ever since I was a boy, I have adored nothing so much as killing," he said, and that hadn't been at all what Bellatrix had been expecting him to say. He continued, "The sensation of causing pain, of snuffing out life, has always been far more pleasurable than even the most powerful climax. But over the past months, something else has crept into my consciousness and very nearly replaced all the gore as the source of my happiness."

Bellatrix blinked. Surely he didn't mean her.

"Of course I mean you, you silly girl," he sneered in frustration. He threw his hands up, apparently quite irritated, and said, "Never mind it; I'll explain some other time. Let's go."

He seemed more on edge than he'd been in quite some time, and Bellatrix didn't think it wise to push or question him now. She stood silently beside him as he touched the tip of his wand to the Galleon and murmured,

"Adlocum Blaize Bailey. Adlocum domus meus. Adannis tertiadecima die mensis Februarii. Adannis anno millesimo, nongenti septuaginta tres."

He took a deep, steadying breath before repeating the ancient, powerful spells again. He repeated them a third time, as if doing so for good measure, and then the little coin buzzed and vibrated on the writing-desk. Bellatrix checked that her Extended bag was secure across her chest, and she reached for Voldemort's hand. He turned his face to her, his expression grave, and he said matter-of-factly,

"If I'd never moved through time, Bella, I wouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what?" she wondered softly, and he answered by kissing her. He used his right hand to cup her jaw, and the length of his wand pressed against Bellatrix's cheek. His lips met hers and his breath was warm on her skin. It was a brief and superficial kiss, but Bellatrix drank it in just the same.

"That," he said finally. "I wouldn't be doing that."

She stared up at him, unable to keep herself from reaching up and stroking at his face. He was right; she wouldn't have dared do this to him before their unexpected sojourn to Paris. If nothing else at all came from their voyaging, this had happened. They had happened.

"I'll still be living with you in Blaize Bailey," she reminded him. "And we'll make plans to go to Nurmengard."

His eyes flashed, and he nodded firmly. Then he squeezed Bellatrix's hand so tightly it hurt, and he reached without further pretense for the Galleon on the table. Everything went hot and white, then freezing cold, and wind whipped Bellatrix's wild curls. When she finally crashed back to life, she'd been hurtled against the old iron stove in the kitchen at Blaize Bailey. She gasped and it hurt, for her ribs had been crushed against the device, and as she pulled herself away with a throbbing, spinning head, she knew at least one of her ribs was broken.

* * *

February 1973

Blaize Bailey

"Ferula… Episkey… better?" Voldemort dragged the tip of his wand around Bellatrix's torso, and she nodded gratefully as the ribs she'd crushed put themselves to rights. He stepped away from her to snatch the copy of the Daily Prophet off the table. The thirteenth of February. Yes. They had returned to precisely the time they'd left. He smiled a little to himself and held up the newspaper as he turned to face Bellatrix.

"Worked like a charm," he joked. Then, more seriously, he noted, "No one else will know we'd gone."

Bellatrix pulled a rather odd face. "It is strange, isn't it?" she asked, "Having to pretend like none of it's happened?"

Suddenly Voldemort found himself feeling the same anxiety he often felt when he thought too hard about Bellatrix. He sniffed lightly, straightened his back, and said in a stiff voice to Bellatrix,

"I do not want you labouring under any silly delusion, Bellatrix, that I am in love with you."

Her wide eyes blinked a few times and her mouth fell open. She shook her head, sending her curls flying, and she insisted, "That isn't at all what I meant, My Lord; I do apologise if I -"

"If I were an intelligent man, I'd shove you onto your knees and fuck your mouth until you gagged and cried," Voldemort spat, his words sending splotches of embarrassed scarlet over Bellatrix's face and neck. She seemed shocked by his sudden change in demeanour, and she stammered,

"If… if that is… if that would make you happy, My Lord, then -"

"Be silent," he hissed, his heart thudding inside his chest as he studied her face. Something terrifying had happened between the two of them in all those trips to the past, and it was only getting worse in the present. He snatched her face in his hands, holding her so roughly that she whimpered in pain. He snarled down at her, "Go on. Do it. Call me by the name you did in Vienna."

She hesitated, her eyes welling as terror washed over her face. She was right to be afraid, Voldemort thought. She had gotten entirely too comfortable. He shook her face and commanded her again,

"Say the name, Bellatrix!"

She opened her mouth, her breath shaking as a tear wormed its way from her eye. Finally she whispered in a cracked voice, "Tom…"

He stepped back so that he could swing his arm harder, and then he backhanded her with all the physical force he could muster. She careened toward the counter, stumbling and falling to her knees from the strike. Voldemort's stomach twisted, and for the first time in a great many years, he thought he might be sick. He gripped the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles hurt. He watched as Bellatrix swiped a trembling hand over what appeared to be a profusely bleeding lip. Voldemort shut his eyes and turned away.

"I have work to do in this time," he said quietly. "I have no time or space for the maudlin nonsense you've cooked up in my life. I have power to attain. People to kill. Do you comprehend that, you… you insufferable little succubus?"

She didn't answer him, so he turned his face to her and prepared to scold her again. But she'd pulled herself up to stand, and she said through the bloody, swollen mess he'd of her mouth,

"I understand, My Lord. The very last thing I want to be is in your way. I beg you to command me however you see fit, even if that means -"

"Stop." He whispered the word so softly that she didn't hear him, and she kept talking.

"... going away entirely, because all I long for is the success you deserve, My Lord, and I -"

"Stop!" Voldemort slammed his fist on the countertop, breathing in the way it hurt to do so. Bellatrix stared at him, wide eyed and vaguely defiant. She wanted to give him everything he wanted, but she refused to be afraid. He pulled his wand out, ignoring the way it quivered in the air. He brushed his wand over Bellatrix's mouth and murmured, "Tergeo. Claude Vulnus. Contra Inflammatio."

The blood was siphoned from her wound, and the split in her lip was sealed up. The swelling went down, and soon enough her mouth was back to normal. Voldemort licked his bottom lip, trying to draw up the words to tell her she was an obstacle on his path to power. He tried to tell her she should just go marry Rodolphus Lestrange, that she was just meat in the war grinder. But he couldn't force himself to say any of those things, so instead he said,

"I apologise for striking you."

The corners of Bellatrix's lips curled up, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. She shook her head. "You'll never have anything to apologise for, My Lord."

"N-no. That was… inappropriate." Voldemort wasn't quite sure why he felt that way, and Bellatrix looked just as confused. They both knew that he'd never hesitate to torture or kill anyone else, that he relished causing pain and suffering and death. But he'd felt sick after hitting Bellatrix, and in any case, the act of doing so had hardly erased her hold on him. He reached for her left forearm and brushed his thumb over her Dark Mark. She shivered a little and shut her eyes.

"This didn't used to happen," Voldemort noted, pressing his thumb more firmly so she knew what he was talking about. He hadn't created the Marks to have this deep of a connection, and before they'd started time traveling, Bellatrix's Mark hadn't possessed this strength, either. Something had happened. Something existed between them that hadn't existed before. And Voldemort knew then that he was a fool if he tried to fight it anymore.

"I can't love you," he said honestly, and Bellatrix opened her eyes. She shrugged and said in a blank, honest voice,

"I would never expect such a thing."

He squared his jaw and brought her forearm up to his lips. He kissed her Dark Mark and she moaned softly. Then he moved his lips to hers, kissing her as gently as he could manage. One of his hands planted itself at the small of her back, and he pulled her flush against him. She was aching for him to deepen the kiss; he could feel the want radiating from her. But he pulled his lips away and touched his forehead to hers.

"No one else will understand why I have to go Nurmengard. It'll only be you and I who know, who understand. Can I count on you, Bella?"

"My Lord," she breathed, her hands hesitantly resting on his shoulders, "You will always be able to count on me. I will be fighting for you until the day I die, and that is a promise I could never break."

Voldemort shut his eyes, feeling an unfamiliar burn in them that he found most unpleasant. He kissed Bellatrix again, unable now to temper the depth of the kiss. He drew her bottom lip between his tip, and his tongue danced with hers. She tasted sweet. She was loyal and powerful and beautiful and his.

"Say it," he whispered desperately against her lips. She'd know what he meant. He wanted to hear her say the name only she was permitted to speak.

"Tom…" The syllable was smooth as silk and heavy in the air, and he groaned as he kissed her again. His hands went to her back, to the row of buttons that bound her into her dress. Soon enough, there would be meetings with his other Death Eaters. Soon there would be planning to get them to Nurmengard. But for right now there was Bellatrix and nothing else. He was lost in her, drowning in her, and somehow Voldemort couldn't care. He'd tried time and time again to rid himself of what she was to him. It had never worked. He vowed to himself in that moment to stop trying, to stop pushing.

He could never love her. She knew that. He knew it in the marrow of his bones. But it didn't matter. She wasn't a weakness, no matter how he tried to convince himself that she was. She was all he had when it came to Grindelwald. She was the only one who set fire to his veins. There was no one else. Only Bellatrix.

* * *

1 March 1973

Malfoy Manor

"CRUCIO!"

Bellatrix paused in the corridor at the sound of her master's bellowing voice. She slowly peered around the threshold of the library where he stood shouting. A blinding crimson web of light was wrapped around a witch on the floor. She writhed and shrieked in pain as Voldemort stood above her, his wand pointed downward. When his gaze flicked to Bellatrix, he released the Cruciatus Curse and smirked.

"Bella," he said with feigned pleasantness. "Do come in. I want to introduce you to our new friend."

Bellatrix stepped silently into the library. She'd actually come to Malfoy Manor to comfort her sister Narcissa, who had recently sustained an early miscarriage. But when she'd heard the Dark Lord shouting, she'd come, her feet guided by curiosity. Now she stood staring at a sobbing heap of a witch on the ground.

"Bella, this is Nadine Davies," said Voldemort calmly. He pushed the witch with his foot a little and barked, "Say hello, Nadine."

The witch on the ground was silent for a moment, but then she finally raised her swollen eyes to Bellatrix and mumbled, "Hello."

"Until very recently, Miss Davies worked for the Daily Prophet," Voldemort told Bellatrix, "but my friends there have informed me that Miss Davies communicates regularly with Albus Dumbledore and publishes his propaganda. Tell me, Bellatrix. Do I like when people publish against me in the Prophet?"

"No, My Lord," Bellatrix smiled. "You don't."

"Let's send that old rag a message, shall we?" Voldemort suggested. "Diffindo. Secaro."

His magic severed her hands at the wrists, and they landed with a rather grotesque thunk on the ground. The bleeding cauterised at once. Nadine Davies screamed in pain and horror, trying in vain to pick up her severed hands with the stumps that remained. Voldemort was calm as ever as he pressed the tip of his wand to his own Dark Mark, obviously summoning someone. Then he aimed his wand at Nadine Davies' head, twisted it smoothly, and murmured, "Obliviate."

Davies' swollen eyes went blank for a moment, and all Bellatrix could do was watch, utterly transfixed by the deeds of her master. Beside her, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange appeared, both huffing as if they'd rushed to get arrive. Rodolphus gave Bellatrix a rather strange look, halfway between confusion and sadness, as his brother Rabastan said,

"My Lord. How may we serve you?

"Get this wench out of my sight," Voldemort said, brushing his fingers along the length of his wand. "Deliver her to the office of the Daily Prophet tonight. Tie her a post if you have to; make certain they find her. She won't know who she is, or what the Daily Prophet is, but her colleagues will recognise her. They may even notice she's missing a few body parts. Evanesco."

He pointed his wand at the severed hands on the floor, and they Vanished into nonbeing at once. Rodolphus and Rabastan levitated Nadine Davies, who was sobbing quietly with disoriented horror. The Lestrange brothers bowed deeply to Lord Voldemort before taking the witch out of the room. Then Bellatrix was left alone with Voldemort, and he flicked his wand to shut and lock the door.

"I was not expecting you here today," he said simply. Bellatrix sighed lightly and told him,

"Narcissa was pregnant… eight weeks along, My Lord."

"Was," he repeated. He ghosted his fingers along a bookshelf on the wall and acted disinterested. "She lost the pregnancy?"

"She did," Bellatrix said uncomfortably. "The Healer told me it's far more common than we often realise."

"A pity, still." Voldemort drew arcs and circles in the air with his wand and cast a few nonverbal spells to clean up any trace of Nadine Davies' presence in the room. The air felt more fresh; it smelled vaguely of spring. Voldemort tucked his wand away and said to Bellatrix, "The loss of a pureblood child is a loss to us all. Give her my condolences."

Bellatrix chewed her lip then, trying to imagine herself speaking to Narcissa on behalf of the Dark Lord himself. He seemed to realise the same odd tone about it all as Bellatrix did. He quirked up half his mouth and said,

"I'll speak to Lucius myself about it. Nevermind. Now… I have news for you. Sit."

He gestured to the wingback before the fireplace. It was pleasant outside, so no fire was lit, and the room was bright and airy from the light streaming through the windows. Bellatrix sat in the brown leather chair, warmed from the sun, and folded her hands in her lap. She suspected she knew what this was about, and, sure enough, the Dark Lord said,

"I have secured a contact at Nurmengard."

"So there are people working there?" Bellatrix affirmed. "It isn't just Dementors, like at Azkaban?"

"No Dementors." Voldemort pursed his lips and leaned back against the mantle, crossing his arms over his chest. "A corps of internationally-recruited Aurors who live near the castle and patrol. Oh… and Inferi. Grindelwald created them in his prime, and they've been turned against him as both a deterrent to invaders and as a mechanism of keeping Grindelwald from escape."

"Inferi," Bellatrix breathed. Se blinked and shook her head. "Reanimated corpses?"

"They're more useful than you might think." Voldemort tipped his head. "In any case… You know I have Boris Mulciber planted in the Auror office. He got his hands on a list of British Aurors currently stationed at Nurmengard. I got in touch only yesterday with one, Peter Emmerick. Here."

He pulled a folded parchment from his robes and held it out to Bellatrix. She noticed the broken black wax seal as she opened the paper.

To the Dark Lord, it read,

My childhood friend Boris Mulciber has informed me of your interest in visiting us here at Nurmengard. Whilst visitors are not allowed, strictly speaking, I do think it possible to make an exception in this case. What I ask in return is to be reassigned in Britain and to be permitted to join your ranks. Please contact me for exact location information, as well as the times and dates when I will be on patrol and can permit you entry.

Regards,

Peter Emmerick

Bellatrix looked up from the letter, startled. "He just wants to be a Death Eater."

Voldemort scoffed. "He said join my ranks, not become a Death Eater. I'll take full measure of him when I meet him. In any case, it seems as though penetrating the prison for a meeting won't need to be a clandestine affair. That's better, because it will likely buy me enough time to meet properly with Grindelwald. It also means you don't have to come."

Bellatrix felt her face fall, even though she tried hard not to show her disappointment. Her hands tightened around the letter, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I won't need you there, Bellatrix, and it isn't a sightseeing trip."

She nodded, feeling a pit in her stomach as she obediently said, "I wouldn't want to be an obstacle or a distraction from your purpose, My Lord. If your will is that I stay behind, I shall gladly do so."

He stared at her for a very long moment then, so long that Bellatrix felt a bit uncomfortable. Finally he sniffed lightly and said, "I shall think on it and let you know."

Bellatrix couldn't help smiling at that. It was better than nothing, and there was a modicum of home. Voldemort kept his face stony as he said,

"Your cousin Clothilde Rosier is getting married tomorrow, yes? I hadn't planned on attending, but I've changed my mind."

Bellatrix grinned and dared to say, "Perhaps you might grant me a dance or two?"

He sighed and stepped away from the mantle, holding his hand out to her. Bellatrix frowned in confusion but took his hand, rising and letting him draw her near.

"Silly girl," he whispered. "Must I spell everything out so clearly for you? I want you to go to the wedding with me."

Bellatrix gasped. "You mean, like a -"

"Don't say it." Voldemort shook his head. Bellatrix had been just about to say date. Like a date. She swallowed the idea as the Voldemort reminded her,

"All those times playing at husband and wife were just pretend. I am not your… I am far above all of those silly little labels, you understand."

"Of course," Bellatrix whispered, shivering as his hands landed softly on her cheeks. He studied her face for a moment and then said,

"Dress adequately to be on the arm the Dark Lord himself."

"I shall try my very best to do you proud," Bellatrix nodded. He kissed her, a light touch of his lips to hers, and he said, "Go to your sister. Give her my condolences."

* * *

2 March 1973

Blaize Bailey

"Bella, I know I said fashionably late, but if we don't leave now, it'll look…"

His voice trailed off then as Bellatrix appeared at the top of the stairs. Voldemort watched in stunned silence as Bellatrix came down, murmuring apologies for how long she'd taken to get ready. Voldemort didn't answer her; he just studied her.

Her gown was black silk, long-sleeved and cut scandalously low in the front to reveal the gentle swell of her breasts. Her shoulders and neckline were encrusted with armour-like silver and crystal decorations. Her hair was drawn back by elegant braids against her head, with a low curly chignon at the base of her neck. High heels clacked on the staircase as she descended, and she carried her wand in a long, black velvet purse with silver and crystal decorations. She was wearing far more makeup than usual - her wide eye were heavily lined and her lips were a deep scarlet.

She finally reached the bottom of the stairs, and she gave Voldemort an apologetic look as she said, "All that fuss just to look like something out of the clearance bin, eh?"

He scowled and informed her, "You look beautiful. But isn't it in poor taste to upstage the bride?"

Bellatrix chuckled. "Shall we go, then?"

"Yes." He took her hand, his heart accelerating a little when he felt the cold metal of the ring he'd put on her finger. He Disapparated with expert silence from Blaize Bailey, and the two of them reappeared at the Rosier family country home where the wedding was being held. The groom, Ephram Shacklebolt, did not come from money the way Clothilde Rosier did.

Voldemort waited for Bellatrix to thread her arm through his, and he flashed her a tiny smile as they walked up to the enormous grand entrance. The doors creaked open to admit them, and the house-elf inside the entryway squealed with terror and Amplified his voice as he declared to the entire house,

"It is m-my g-g-great pleasure to announce the… the arrival of the D-Dark Lord himself!" stammered the house-elf. Voldemort cocked up an eyebrow, unimpressed by the creature. But then Bellatrix's uncle Stamford Rosier appeared, bowing low and making all sorts of welcoming exhortations. He eyed Bellatrix's presence on the Dark Lord's arm, and Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"I believe your house-elf is broken, Rosier," he drawled. "It seems to have rather an awful stutter. Perhaps you should get that fixed."

Stamford Rosier's cheeks darkened, and he nodded. "I do apologise, My Lord, if my home has proven insufficiently welcoming to you. Please, will you be so good as to come into the ballroom? Hello, Bellatrix."

He said those last two words as an afterthought, but Bellatrix was purposeful as she nodded and said, "Uncle Stamford. Congratulations on Clothilde being married. I'd thought perhaps she never would wed at all. She's nearly thirty, isn't she?"

Rosier's cheeks went redder than ever, and he laughed lightly as he led them to the ballroom. "Just turned thirty last month," he admitted. "But she's married now! The ceremony just ended a half hour ago. You're just in time for the celebration."

"I am sorry that we missed the ceremony," Voldemort lied. "We were otherwise engaged."

"It's no problem at all, My Lord!" Rosier insisted. "We are humbled by your presence."

In the ballroom, everyone bowed and curtsied and murmured platitudes as Voldemort walked by them. He ignored them all, leading Bellatrix to a table that had been wisely set aside for him alone. Dinner was a boring steak-and-potato affair, and the wine was unremarkable. They sat through the miserable toasts and speeches and first dance, and finally Bellatrix leaned over and said,

"I must sound terrible saying this, but her dress is horrid."

Voldemort snorted a little laugh, unable to control himself. She was right, of course. Clothilde Rosier was a lumpy woman with a plain face, and her plain, shiny white gown squeezed her in all the wrong places. Voldemort flicked his eyes up and down Bellatrix's form and whispered,

"I told you you'd upstage the bride."

Bellatrix smiled, her eyes locked on her cousin. He stared at her, at her pretty face and her petite body, and he was hungry for far more than the food that had been served. Bellatrix gazed ahead, but her hand found his under the table, and she asked quietly,

"Will you please dance with me once they open the floor?"

"Naturally," he replied, forcing his eyes away from her. Someone was probably watching him, and he feared his lust for Bellatrix would be visibly evident. He swallowed hard and didn't clap along with the others after the first dance. The leader of the hired string ensemble announced that the dance floor was now open, and Voldemort promptly rose from his chair. He bowed just enough to seem polite, and he held out his hand. "Miss Black, would you grant me the honour of a dance?"

Bellatrix took his hand and smiled. "The honour is all mine, My Lord. I assure you."

Many eyes followed them to the dance floor, and Voldemort was amused to note how many women were ferociously jealous of Bellatrix. Let them be jealous, he thought. They're all ugly and idiotic compared to her.

He brought her smoothly into a waltz, knowing they were being watched. Once more he noticed the striking dress she'd put on, the way her face was painted so carefully, the elegant twists in her hair, and he said,

"You really do look beautiful, Bella. But, then, you look beautiful in the morning, and after battle, and…" He trailed off, feeling a boiling sense of want coming up inside of him. Bellatrix seemed almost overwhelmed as he brought her closer to him and lowered his voice. "I had your body for the first time in Paris. Then on the train, then in Venice. In Blaize Bailey, so many times. In Vienna. And tonight, I'll have your body again. Then perhaps tomorrow, and ten years from now, because I'm the only one who will ever take you. Ever. Do you understand?"

"Hmm… oh, yes, My Lord," Bellatrix said in a voice tight with emotion. "I understand."

Voldemort kept his motions smooth and glanced around the ballroom of sycophants. He turned his eyes back to Bellatrix and informed her,

"You'll come with me to Nurmengard."

She smiled and nodded. "Thank you, My Lord."

He paused his dancing steps for a moment, lowering his ears to her lip as he whispered, "Tell me what name you'll cry out when we go home. Tell me what name makes you wet between your legs."

Bellatrix's breath hitched, but she managed to answer softly, "Tom."

"Good girl." He stood upright and began dancing, making his voice formal and light as he announced, "We're only staying another twenty minutes or so. This must be the most boring wedding that's ever happened."


	11. Chapter 11

_March 1973_

 _Nurmengard_

"It's enormous," Bellatrix breathed, gripping her wand more carefully. She and the Dark Lord had Apparated here after he'd received its secret location from Peter Emmerick. She stared up at the angular stone tower that seemed to have been birthed by the sea cliff itself. She breathed in the salt and let the wind whip her hair. Beside her, Voldemort took a few steps forward and called sharply,

"Emmerick!"

Bellatrix yelped then as something wrapped around her ankle. She suppressed a shriek when she looked down and saw the grey, bony hand of an Inferius. The undead face of the crawling creature stared up at her, milky-eyed and snarling, and Bellatrix aimed her wand at the thing as she recoiled quickly backward. Before she could incant her spell, she heard Voldemort's voice say sharply,

" _Incendio._ "

Fire shot past Bellatrix then, engulfing the Inferius. It barely made any sound as it writhed and charred. An awful smell of death washed over Bellatrix, so strongly that she felt sick. She turned to Voldemort and asked,

"Who do you suppose they were?"

"They Inferi?" Voldemort shrugged. "Old enemies of Grindelwald's, I'm sure. There's Emmerick now. Come."

She followed him across the patchy brown grass, over pebbles and flat sheets of slate. They grew closer to the immense fortress, and Bellatrix kept her gaze on the stocky ginger wizard who stood in front of the building. His black robes whipped about him, and he held up one hand in solemn greeting. When they finally approached, Peter Emmerick bowed deferentially and said over the wind,

"An honour it is to meet you at last."

"This is Bellatrix Black," Voldemort said, ignoring the greeting. "My… associate."

Bellatrix couldn't help but smirk at that; he'd introduced her in Venice to Aloysius da Chioggia the same way. Peter Emmerick's cold blue eyes warmed a little, and he nodded.

"Miss Black. A pleasure. Sorry about that Inferius on your way in; they've learnt that the Aurors here are more or less allied with them, and they ignore us." He turned and stared up at the stone tower, gesturing to the very top. "Gellert Grindelwald is housed in the uppermost cell of the building. He is without a wand, but there are still anti-Apparition charms on the structure, just in case. You'll need to come back out here when you leave. I shall stay and keep the Inferi at bay. I am the only Auror on duty at the moment."

Bellatrix was impressed by Emmerick's matter-of-fact methodology, by his efficient manner of speaking. She suspected that he might earn himself a Dark Mark, after all.

"Mulciber has seen to it that you be reassigned to Auror work in Britain," Voldemort said smoothly. "Upon your return, you will do the same for me that Mulciber does now. You will be working on my behalf in the Auror office. Have we a bargain?"

Peter Emmerick grinned widely. "We do, My Lord. Please… take your time inside."

He gestured to the monumental structure behind him, and Voldemort nodded. He and Bellatrix walked up to the open square arch that served as the entrance to the tower. It was just as dank and cold and salt-whipped inside as the outside was. Bellatrix stared up at the triangular staircases that seemed never ending. She could barely even see the top of the building, even with the grey light streaming in through the slits in the walls.

"How will we ever climb all those stairs?" she mused, her thighs aching at the very prospect. The Dark Lord smirked and said,

"Bellatrix, do you remember when I told you I'd mastered flight?"

Bellatrix's eyes went wide. She pointed upwards and said nervously, "You mean -"

"Yes, I do. Hold on tightly," he commanded her. He wrapped his left arm around Bellatrix's waist, and on instinct she snared her own arms around his shoulders. She stared up at him, at the way his eyes gleamed in the dim cloudy light, and she whispered,

"Right, then. Let's fly."

She squealed with alarm when he pushed his boots off the ground, sending them upward in a smooth, straight line. It seemed effortless for him, and his cocky smirk broadened as they whizzed past the endless stairs. Bellatrix felt her stomach flop, partially from the motion and partly because she was afraid they would slam into the stone. But Voldemort kept them moving expertly; they soared up through the centre of the tower until he glided sideways and landed them on the very top level. Bellatrix was a little dizzy after her feet touched the ground, and for a moment she didn't let him go.

"His cell is just down the corridor," Voldemort whispered, peeling Bellatrix's arms from his body. "I can feel him."

Bellatrix, still in awe of her master's immense and terrifying power, followed him down a corridor lit only by a single wall torch. There was no lock on the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, but she could tell it was Grindelwald's cell. Voldemort pushed the door open, and it creaked mightily. Bellatrix tried to keep her face impassive when they stepped into the cell, both of them with their wands extended. She lowered hers a little when she realised the cell's inhabitant wasn't the powerful politician she'd heard discussed in Vienna, but a shriveled old man hunkered in the corner. He was chained the walls, his bindings thick and heavy. He looked and smelled like he hadn't bathed in decades. And he was smiling at them, his pale eyes twinkling with unmasked delight.

"Ah," said Grindelwald. "Now this is a visit I _did_ see coming. Tom. Bellatrix."

Bellatrix gripped her wand more tightly and turned her attention to Voldemort. His face stayed steady as he nodded and said,

"Then it's true. You are a Seer."

Grindelwald shut his eyes and tipped his head back against the stone wall. The sound of waves crashing outside was the only punctuation to the heavy silence. Finally Grindelwald spoke.

"I was a lot of things, once upon a time. And that's why you've come. Tell me what you want… Lord Voldemort."

"I want your secrets," Voldemort answered immediately. When Grindelwald met his gaze, he took another step into the cell and specified, "Your movement started out quietly, almost… peacefully. Why? How did that change?"

Grindelwald smiled knowingly. "Vienna," he nodded. He sighed and said, "I found it easier to carefully cultivate my power, as though it were a delicate flower. But soon enough I had an army instead of an assembly. Soon enough I had a war instead of a cause. And wars, Mr. Riddle, are very messy indeed."

"So they are," said Voldemort. Bellatrix was fascinated by the exchange, but she couldn't help flicking her eyes out to see the vertigo-inducing drop to the dark sea below.

"I will tell you my most important bit of wisdom," Grindelwald said, and Bellatrix turned back to face him. "And that is this. I do not suppose that any wizard who is pitted directly against Albus Dumbledore can ever truly defeat him."

There was an odd quiet then as Voldemort seemed to be staring straight into Grindelwald's soul. Finally, Bellatrix heard her master say,

"But you had something with Dumbledore that I've never had. A profoundly positive relationship. You were drowning so thoroughly in what you cared for that you couldn't see his weaknesses. But I have been scanning and watching all my life for Dumbledore's weaknesses."

"Have you found many of them?" Grindelwald asked with a wry smile, and Voldemort tipped his head.

"He is insufficiently fond of killing, and that is more than enough."

"Yes." Grindelwald lowered his face and looked at the heavy shackles on his wrists. "He could have killed me, but he didn't. Instead I've become a logistical nightmare for wizarding governments the world over. What remarkable insight, Mr Riddle."

A sarcastic glare was exchanged between the two men then, and finally Voldemort demanded, "Tell me what to do so that I don't wind up like you."

Grindelwald's eyes crinkled, and he laughed softly. He sounded tired then as he sighed and leaned back against the stone. "Stay human," he said simply. Then, his face going quite serious indeed, he said, "I know what you've done, Lord Voldemort. The steps you have taken. Keep your feet upon the wet black earth, and someday allow yourself to be buried in it."

Bellatrix frowned, confused by those words. But Voldemort did not seem confused at all, and he said in a dangerous sort of tone,

"You're an old man in a less-than-ideal living situation. I'm sure you need rest. We'll leave you be."

"But you haven't let the lady speak," Grindelwald said, gesturing rather grandly toward Bellatrix. She felt her cheeks go hot as the old wizard's eyes met his. He cocked up a white eyebrow and said, "Have you a voice of your own, Bellatrix? I'm quite sure you've your own questions for me."

Bellatrix straightened her back. She was no Legilimens, but she could pick up on the tension that had developed between Grindelwald and her master, and she knew which side she was on.

"I do have one question," she said. She jerked her face toward the window and asked, "Why haven't you jumped?"

Grindelwald laughed then, his voice hoarse, like he hadn't laughed in decades. Perhaps he hadn't. He slapped his spindly knee and said to Voldemort,

"I like her. You could leave her for me as an act of mercy. But… ah. My dear girl, I simply can not jump." He turned his pale eyes to Bellatrix and held up his shackled hands. "My chains do not reach, and, in any case, the window is too narrow. I've no wand, or else a simple _Engorgio_ would do the trick. Perhaps you will be the merciful one in this cell."

Bellatrix shook her head and said plainly, "I am insufficiently fond of mercy."

"Well." Grindelwald leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. "As you said, I am an old man in desperate need of respite. Since neither of you mean to provide, perhaps my old friend Sleep will come again. How good it was of you to visit me."

"Come, Bella," Voldemort said sharply. Bellatrix dashed over to him, lacing her arm through his. As they walked wordlessly from the cell, Grindelwald said from behind them,

"Stay human, Mr Riddle!"

Voldemort shut the heavy wooden door behind him and glanced over the balustrade to the floor many storeys below. He wrapped his arm around Bellatrix's waist, and she linked her hands behind his neck, studying his face. Then, without warning, he leaped.

* * *

 _March 1973_

 _Malfoy Manor_

"For Merlin's sake, Lestrange, what's happened? _Legilimens!"_ Voldemort walked briskly toward Rodolphus Lestrange, who was climbing the stairs in the main hall of Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix in his arms. They'd been with Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy in Grimsby, pursuing a lead that Mad-Eye Moody and the Weasley family were hiding in the town. Voldemort had held back, knowing that he couldn't be at every battle and trusting his finest soldiers to complete their task. That, he could see now, had been a terrible mistake. He smashed into Rodolphus Lestrange's mind, and the chaotic scene from the house in Grimsby played out before him.

" _Molly, take the boys and go!" screamed Arthur Weasley. The red-haired witch behind him clutch her infant son closer and seized the hand of a frightened three-year-old boy. She Disapparated with a resounding crack, and Abraxas Malfoy snarled in frustration._

" _Stupefy!" Arthur Weasley yelled, his blue spell exploding from his wand and hurtling toward the Death Eaters. Bellatrix stepped in front of the spell and expertly deflected it, immediately calling back,_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

 _Her Killing Curse burst apart the fireplace and plaster wall behind Arthur Weasley, who Disapparated just in time._

" _Oh, no you don't, you evil bitch," said Mad-Eye Moody, jerking his wand wordlessly toward Bellatrix. She turned her attention away from the blast-apart wall just in time to see a jet of deep purple light hurtle toward her. It struck her in the head and she collapsed at once._

" _Bella!" Rodolphus yelled. Curses and light flew then as the Malfoys fiercely battled Mad-Eye Moody. Rodolphus dashed over to Bellatrix and checked that she was alive. She was, but only just. He glanced up to see Lucius Malfoy take a Jelly-Legs Curse, which made him wobble straight into an end table and topple over. Abraxas Malfoy's eyes flashed, and Moody seemed to know that he was about to be killed. The Auror wisely Disapparated, leaving the Death Eaters alone in the parlour._

" _You take Bellatrix," Abraxas told Rodolphus firmly. "Get her back to the Dark Lord at my home. Let me get this spell reversed on Lucius, and we'll be behind you."_

 _Rodolphus scooped Bellatrix up in his arms. He could have Levitated her, he supposed, but he didn't want to risk it. He wasn't sure what sort of spell had hit her. She was hardly a burden, and once he stood, he stared down at her for a half second. She was beautiful, he realised again. She was meant to be his wife. But he sighed and reminded himself that they were both in the service of the Dark Lord, and that came before anything he might feel for Bella._

 _He Disapparated, taking more care than usual as he did. He rushed through the gardens at Malfoy Manor, reaching his wand around Bellatrix and touching it to his Dark Mark. By the time he started climbing the stairs in the manor's entry, he could hear the Dark Lord shouting angrily._

Voldemort pulled out of Rodolphus' head and immediately reached for Bellatrix. She was limp and quiet as he wrapped her up in his arms. He tried to keep his voice steady as he commanded Rodolphus,

"Stay here, Lestrange. Send me an owl when you've confirmed that the Malfoys are alive. Other than that, do not summon or bother me, and tell the others the same."

"Yes, My Lord. I am very sorry, My Lord." Rodolphus wrung his hands before him. Voldemort ignored him entirely, making his way quickly back down the stairs and out of the manor. He walked briskly through the gardens, wondering if his presence at the battle would have protected Bellatrix.

Rodolphus Lestrange hadn't known what the spell was that had hit Bellatrix, but Voldemort did. The Sempisomnus Curse, used to send the victim into a deep sleep only reversible by a potion, was rarely employed owing to its unreliable nature. But Mad-Eye Moody was a powerful wizard, and he'd cast the curse with skill. Bellatrix wasn't dead or dying; she was so deeply asleep that she could only be awakened by a fresh batch of Wideye Potion. Even with Voldemort's high-quality copper cauldron, brewing the potion would take eight hours. He'd have to get straight to work.

At Blaize Bailey, he cleane Bellatrix up with a few spells and settled her into their bed, tucking the blankets around her and staring down at her for a moment. He stroked her jaw with his knuckles and murmured,

"Don't worry, Bella. I'll wake you soon."

He made his way to the sunroom that he'd designated as a potions workspace, rolling his sleeves to his elbows and setting to work. He lifted his copper cauldron onto the wooden work table and Scoured it. He began assembling his ingredients from the drawers and cupboards of stores. Snake fangs, Billywig sting, Standard Ingredient, Wolfsbane. A mortar and pestle.

He had the recipe for Wideye Potion memorised, and he even thought there was an old bottle somewhere in his stores here. But Bellatrix would experience a splitting headache if he used expired potion. So Voldemort calmly ground the fangs and herbs in his mortar whilst the Billywig Stings heated. Once the potion was stirred and brewing, there was nothing to do but wait.

He checked on Bellatrix again, brushing her curls away from her face as he pondered what Grindelwald had said to him a week before. _Stay human._ It had been a maddening thing to hear at the time; Voldemort had no shame or regret in having made his Horcruxes. But now, as he felt the crushing dread in his chest over what had happened to Bellatrix, he felt quite human indeed. He couldn't love her, and he had no idea what love was. But whatever he did feel for her was very powerful indeed.

He forced himself to eat some soup and bread and to drink a few glasses of water. He checked on Bellatrix again after that. He took a long, hot bath, thinking of how his enemies had escaped today and thinking of Bellatrix. He checked on her again. An owl came from Rodolphus Lestrange, assuring the Dark Lord of the Malfoys' safety and apologising profusely from their failure. Voldemort incinerated the letter and did not write back. He checked on Bellatrix once more, lying down in the bed beside her sleeping form.

"I _am_ human, Bella," he said, though of course she couldn't hear him. He tucked himself beneath the blankets and drew her near, frustrated by the fact that his potion still had almost five hours of brewing time. The minutes were passing interminably. He shut his eyes and breathed in the faint scent of rose in Bellatrix's hair. He couldn't keep himself then from kissing her cheekbones and even her lips, though he did so carefully. His hand stroked between her shoulder blades as her back rose and fell slowly. He lay on his side and touched his forehead to hers, and he whispered in frustration,

"Wake up, Bella."

A meek little noise escaped her lips, and Voldemort felt his stomach flop and his heart race. He gulped hard and kissed Bellatrix's lips again, being as gentle as he could manage. On instinct, his fingers yanked up her left sleeve, and he wrapped his hand around her forearm. The instant his skin touched her Dark Mark, Bellatrix's eyes flew open. She gasped as though she'd been drowning, and Voldemort felt like he'd been frozen. He blinked a few times, stroking Bellatrix's Mark with his thumb.

"I failed you, My Lord," Bellatrix whispered, but he shook his head and answered,

"I saw it all in Lestrange's head. You fought viciously; you took a curse. That's all."

Bellatrix's eyes fluttered and shut again. "I'm so tired, My Lord. So… sleepy."

"Stay awake," he insisted, but he could tell Bellatrix was drifting off again. Voldemort stroked her Mark and crushed her lips with his, concentrating on filling her with his magic. Suddenly she was kissing him back, her tongue urgent and her hands grasping at his shoulders. She moaned and squirmed, and when he pulled his face from hers, she whispered frantically,

"Make love to me… please. Please."

She'd never referred to the act like that, but he didn't correct her. Now was scarcely the time for fucking, in any case. He looked at the clothes concealing her body from him and felt a twinge of frustration. He reached for his wand and silently Banished her clothes to the corner of the bedroom. Bellatrix wriggled as her dress and knickers pulled themselves off of her body, as her bra unclasped itself and pulled down her arms. As her body was stripped, he wrenched his own shirt and trousers off, and he tossed them aside with his underwear and socks. He brought Bellatrix closer to him again, noticing at once that she'd nodded off.

"Wake up, Bella," he commanded her in a whisper, his hand drifting from her shoulder down to her backside and squeezing a little. She blinked once, slowly, but her breath was slow and deep. Voldemort pushed her onto her back and hovered over her, leaning onto one elbow as he touched her. He brushed his knuckles over her collarbone, down along the outside curve of her breast, and he kissed her lips rather insistently. "Wake up…"

"Mmm…" Her fingers reached weakly for his chest, trailing down his stomach and wrapping loosely around his half-hard cock. Voldemort studied her carefully, focusing on the parts that made her beautiful, feeling blood rush to his member as he did. He put his fingers between her legs, but she was utterly and unsurprisingly dry. She boiled up his magic and cast a wandless Lubrico Charm upon her, feeling her go slick beneath his fingers. Her breath quickened, but her eyes did not open.

"Bella," Voldemort found himself saying as he twitched in her hand, "It's fine; it's one stupid altercation that went a bit wrong. You didn't fail me. You'll be fine. Just try and look at me."

Her eyelids fluttered and her hand moved on him a little, but then her hand stopped and her face fell to the side. Voldemort growled in frustration, putting his lips beside her ear.

"Don't hate me for this," he commanded, moving to hover above her. He lined himself up with her entrance and reached again for her left forearm. He massaged her Dark Mark, and she sprang awake again. Her back arched up, her breasts heaving with her sudden fast breath. Her dark eyes met his, and Voldemort said,

"Give me permission."

She nodded. "Please take me."

"Mmph." He pushed into her, his fingers still touching her Mark. He synchronised the rhythm of his hand and his cock, pumping smoothly into her as his thumb stroked along the searing black lines he'd put upon her. Bellatrix's hands clenched on the sheets, and she moaned quietly. But then her face turned to the side, and she began to drift off again. Voldemort growled, frustrated by Moody's Sempisomnus Curse. He jerked his hips faster and faster until he could hardly breathe, and he wrapped his hand around Bellatrix's arm. Bellatrix's body was mostly unresponsive now, and the rousing effects of him touching her Dark Mark seemed to be diminishing.

Voldemort let himself finish, feeling a radiating warmth for a few seconds and a dull, pulsing pleasure. His seed jetted forth from his body into hers, and he could feel his magic doing the same from his fingers into her arm. That moment seemed to wake Bellatrix up more thoroughly, her eyes going wide and her fingers tightening on the sheets again. Her gaze finally found his, and she whispered rather frantically,

"I love you, Tom."

His mouth fell open, for those words had shot through his veins like a drug. He just nodded and pulled himself out of her. He released her arm, and her eyelids started to drift closed again. He lowered his face to hers and kissed her hard, swirling his tongue into her mouth and getting very little back. It started to feel… _wrong_ , almost as though he were taking something from her that she was not equipped to give. So he climbed off of her and stood beside the bed, tucking the blankets up around her to keep her nude body warm.

"The Wideye Potion will be ready in a few hours," he told her, not caring that she couldn't hear him. He dressed, taking his time and studying her beautiful face as he did. Before he went back downstairs, he dipped to kiss her forehead one more time, and he murmured, "Sleep, my lovely little soldier. I'll wake you soon enough."

* * *

 _March 1973_

 _Malfoy Manor_

"Rookwood. What new information have you got?"

Bellatrix glanced down the long table at which the Death Eaters had assembled for their bi-weekly meeting. Augustus Rookwood, an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, folded his hands on the table and said,

"My Lord, Ludovic Bagman informed me the other day that in his circle of family and friends, there is increasing talk of blood purity and anti-Muggle sentiment. I have heard similarly from other members of the Department of Mysteries. It would seem that fear and logic are combining to make more and more sympathetic to our cause."

"Good news," Voldemort nodded. "Anything else?"

"There is more talk by the day within the Ministry about the Minister herself," Rookwood pronounced. "Eugenia Jenkins is said to be incompetent in handling the so-called _threat_ you pose."

"My Lord, if I may…" Rabastan Lestrange held up a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and said, "This just came out this morning. To Rookwood's point, I believe you may find the headline intriguing, Master."

Bellatrix's eyes went up with curiosity as Voldemort silently Summoned the newspaper. He read it for a moment, and a heavy quiet settled over the table. Voldemort finally smirked and passed the newspaper to Bellatrix, who sat beside him, and said,

"Go ahead and read it aloud to the class, Bella."

She cleared her throat and read in a clear voice, " _HELPFUL OR HELPLESS? MINISTER JENKINS' COMPETENCE CALLED INTO QUESTION. We are all more than aware of the terrifying rise of Lord Voldemort, the once underestimated master of the Dark Arts. His ever-growing army of adherents has swollen most dramatically in the past year. All of this in spite of Minister for Magic Eugenia Jenkins' valiant efforts, many of which have proven fruitless. Increased Dementor presence at Azkaban has done little good when so few Death Eaters have been captured. Incidents of murdered Ministry employees, Magical civilians, and Muggles alike continue unabated. If one could declare our present reality a real war, it is clear that Lord Voldemort would be winning it. But what is the answer? Many are calling for Minister Jenkins' resignation, but so far she has stubbornly refused. She continues to promise better results in capturing Lord Voldemort's followers and, she says, the Dark Lord himself. The efficacy of these efforts remains to be seen, as does the will of the people in response."_

Bellatrix set the newspaper down and looked up at Voldemort. Around the table, little smiles, quiet laughter, and excited squirming prevailed. Narcissa met her sister's eyes across the table, and the younger woman's lips turned up.

"Abraxas, I take it our plant at the _Prophet_ was coerced to write this?" Voldemort asked, and Abraxas said in a rather surprised voice,

"Not that I know of, My Lord. It would seem that the discontent among Ministry employees is real and visceral. Many are indeed calling for Jenkins to resign."

"That would open up an opportunity for us to seize the position of Minister for ourselves," Voldemort nodded, "if we play our cards right. Very well. Let's give them all a few days of quiet, a few days to think that perhaps their precious Minister has things under control. Then let all hell break loose. Abraxas, Narcissa, and Lucius, I want a random attack in a Muggle town. Rabastan and Rodolphus - set fire to a shop in Hogsmeade. Karkaroff and Avery, burst out some windows in Diagon Alley. Bellatrix and I will take out an Auror. All of this happens on the evening of this coming Thursday, a week from today. Give them complacency, then give them a shock of terror."

"Very good, My Lord," Abraxas nodded, and the others around their table bowed their heads in respect. Voldemort dragged his fingers down the length of his wand and smiled wickedly.

"Dismissed," he said.

* * *

"Bella."

She whirled around at the sound of her name, surprised to see Rodolphus Lestrange walking toward her. She glanced around; there was no one else in this wide corridor of Malfoy Manor. She forced a smile and said,

"Hello, Rodolphus."

"How are you feeling?" he asked gently, and Bellatrix flinched when he dared to reach out and put his hand on her shoulder. She knew what he meant. He'd been the one to bring her from Grimsby to the Dark Lord when she'd been struck by a Sempisomnus Curse. Two weeks had passed since then, and Bellatrix hadn't seen Rodolphus since. She smiled weakly and told him,

"I was perfectly fine once the Dark Lord brewed and dosed me with Wideye Potion. In any case, thank you very much for getting me back safely."

"I'll admit I was frightened for you," Rodolphus said. His hand was still on Bellatrix's shoulder, so she took a half step back. He retracted his hand self-consciously, flashing her an apologetic look. His honey-coloured eyes were sorrowful then as he noted, "I spent years thinking I was going to marry you, Bella. I got within a month of marrying you. Now I'm not sure if I'll ever get the chance. I certainly hope I do. I should like very much to be your husband."

That was awfully bold of him, Bellatrix thought, but she just licked her lip and said quietly, "I thought you were pursuing Tiara Shacklebolt."

Rodolphus shrugged. "She's mad for Rabastan, not me. It doesn't do for two brothers to go after the same woman. Bella… please tell me that I shouldn't give up on marrying you. I'll wait forever as long a I actually have something to wait for."

Bellatrix felt a bit woozy. She shrugged and said lightly, "It isn't up to me, I'm afraid."

"Right." Rodolphus gnawed on the inside of his cheek and nodded. Then he took Bellatrix's face in his hands, eliciting a gasp, and he touched his mouth to hers. Bellatrix squealed and recoiled, tempted to slap Rodolphus straight across his cheek. Instead, she swiped the back of her hand over her lips, scowled at him, and spat,

"I am _his_ , Rodolphus. If you can't see that, you're utterly blind. Wait or don't; it makes no difference to me. You're lucky He didn't see you do that, or you'd be -"

"I did see it," came a smooth voice from down the corridor. Bellatrix and Rodolphus both turned to see the Dark Lord striding toward them with measured steps, his wand out. Beside Bellatrix, Rodolphus' cheeks went red and he cleared his throat roughly.

"I - I do apologise," he stammered. "My Lord, I should not have… I am very -"

"Sorry," Voldemort finished, looming over them both. His dark eyes glittered with rage and then narrowed. "You and your brother had a reputation at Hogwarts, didn't you? A reputation for thieving. Other students' belongings, Potions ingredients, books from the library. You were known for your heists, weren't you?"

Rodolphus just nodded silently. Voldemort aimed his wand at Rodolphus and barked,

" _Genua!_ "

Rodolphus' knees gave out, and he collapsed to kneel on the carpet. His eyes went wide with fear as Voldemort glared down at him.

"You're only sorry that you kissed her because I appeared. Don't lie and tell me otherwise; I can see the truth for myself. No, you should not wait to marry Bellatrix, because it will never happen. Fight your brother for Tiara Shacklebolt or find someone else. And do not forget my mercy today, Rodolphus. You have offended me gravely and I have spared you. You owe me your life."

"I understand, My Lord," Rodolphus nodded. He turned his face to Bellatrix, looking and sounding sincere as he said,

"I am very sorry, Miss Black."

"Come, Bella," Voldemort said sharply, and as Bellatrix followed him, Rodolphus was left kneeling on the rug. Bellatrix walked in silence beside Voldemort until they were at the Apparition Point, and once they'd come to in Blaize Bailey, it was pouring rain. He didn't move from the front garden, choosing instead to simply stand in the rain. Bellatrix said just loudly enough to him to hear,

"I'm very sorry that happened."

"I was just about to say the same to you," Voldemort sighed. He sucked on his teeth for a moment and declared, "I didn't kill him because, if I'd done so, I'd have lost the loyalty of his brother and the Malfoys. I can't afford that right now. But I mean to make it _very_ clear to him that he will never have you. You said it yourself, and I'm glad you did."

"I'm yours," Bellatrix said firmly, and Voldemort nodded. Then he turned and walked inside, and Bellatrix padded quickly behind him.

* * *

 _July 1973_

 _Blaize Bailey_

 _Voldemort stared at the casket before him. It was sleek black with minimalist silver decorations. She wouldn't have wanted anything more elaborate than that. The casket was shut, which was for the best, because Voldemort did not suppose he would be able to maintain his veneer of apathy toward Bellatrix if he'd been able to see her now._

 _She'd been taken down by a Killing Curse in battle, a spell thrown by Molly Weasley when Bellatrix had tried to seize the woman's children. Always so brazen, Bellatrix had been. Always so willing to throw herself in front of a curse in order to achieve her master's ends._

 _He stood quietly now in the cemetery, her casket levitated by his wand. He began to slowly lower her into the ground, and he could hear her father crying softly behind him. Voldemort used his wand to cover the casket with loose soil, the black earth upon which his feet had stayed planted thanks to her. When he turned round, Rodolphus Lestrange was staring at him with red-rimmed eyes._

" _I'm very sorry, My Lord," said Rodolphus. "I know you cared deeply for her."_

" _It was far more than that," Voldemort said blankly. "She kept me human."_

He jolted awake, springing upward in his bed. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he glanced to the empty space beside him where Bellatrix normally slept. She was at Malfoy Manor, staying with her sister Narcissa. The younger sister had suffered her second miscarriage in a year, and Bellatrix had gone to help Narcissa through it. Voldemort ghosted his fingers over her pillow, knowing it probably smelled of the rose scent her curls always gave off.

He pulled himself out of bed and stalked into the bathroom, illuminating the lamps on the wall and staring at himself in the mirror above the sink. He turned on the cold tap and splashed some cold water on his face, staring again. His skin was wrinkled and imperfect. His greying hair was balding. He may be powerful, but he was a man. A human man.

And then, very suddenly, he understood. It all made sense. He stared at his own fingers and realised that he only had so much power to the change the inevitable. The time travel had happened so that he and Bellatrix could become lovers, so that they could become inextricably linked. They were a binary star, the two of them, orbiting one another constantly. But that had only happened because of Paris. It had only happened because of Venice, because of Vienna. It had only happened because of the nights on the Simplon-Orient Express when he'd listened to her breathing quietly beneath him. He shut his eyes and said aloud,

"She keeps me human."

He had Horcruxes waiting for him, but he had no idea (and was admittedly frightened of) what might happen to him if he ever actually had to use the Horcruxes. But if he focused on staying alive, staying human… staying with Bellatrix…

He found himself abruptly and wholly unafraid. He walked quickly out of the bathroom and dressed in the bedroom. He pulled on a black linen shirt and lightweight trousers, for it was a hot night outside. He draped a thin cotton robe over his shoulders and slipped on his fine leather shoes. He cleaned his teeth and Scoured his body, taking his wand and Disapparating on the spot.

When he came to, he was at Malfoy Manor, just beyond the Apparition Point. He swished his wand to open the garden gate, and as he approached the front doors, he stared up at the second-floor window with a dim light glowing. She was awake. He knew the rooms she stayed in when she came here, and her light was on. Voldemort walked so quickly then that he had to temper his steps from running. The front doors automatically swung open to admit him, the manor having been enchanted to give preferential treatment to the Dark Lord himself. He made his way up the right side of the swooping double staircase and then turned right, climbing another set of stairs. The corridor filled with guest rooms was empty and quiet except for the portraits on the walls. The Malfoy ancestors in the paintings all seemed to be sleeping, and Voldemort moved like a silent wraith. When he reached her rooms, he paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Some idiotic little corner of his mind screamed at him to tell her that he loved her. But that word - _love_ \- still made no actual sense to him. He had no good way of describing what he felt for Bellatrix. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. She was powerful. She was _his._ That was enough. He didn't have a word for it, and she wouldn't need one.

He turned the doorknob to find the guest suite unlocked. He smirked, knowing she'd shriek and probably throw some hexes at him if he came marching in unannounced.

"Bellatrix," he said sharply into the dim room, turning away from the door he'd cast ajar. There was the sound of feet padding softly on the ground, and then the door was pulled open and Bellatrix was there, standing in a long white nightgown, her hair thickly braided over one shoulder. She looked oddly unsurprised to see him, and she dragged her fingers over her braid as she teased him,

"Did you miss me that badly, My Lord, that you had to come fetch me home?"

"Let me in," he demanded, unable to keep his face or voice stern. She stepped aside and bowed her head respectfully, shutting the door behind him after he walked into her rooms. The moment she turned back to him, he seized her face and kissed her hard, making her squeal and nearly drop her wand. When he pulled away, he asked matter-of-factly, "How is your sister?"

Bellatrix's hands nervously went back to her braid. "She's doing all right, My Lord, but… well, Lucius is more than a little disappointed that she's miscarried twice. He thinks something's wrong with her. He says if it happens again…"

She trailed off then, her face going hard and determined. She let go of her hair and put her hands on Voldemort's chest.

"I got into rather a ferocious argument with him, I'm afraid," Bellatrix admitted. "I told him that perhaps the problem was _him_ , or perhaps it was just coincidence, but that in any case he scarcely had the right to threaten his marriage over all this. After all, she's just turned eighteen; they've got ages and ages for her to squeeze out a child for him. And he can be as cruel as he likes to Mudblood and Blood Traitors on your behalf, but he may not be cruel to my sister. That's… that's what I told him, My Lord. I apologise if I overstepped."

Voldemort smirked. "Seems as though you were perfectly reasonable," he said, "but tomorrow night, I want you back in Blaize Bailey. I do not at all care for waking up in the middle of the night to an empty spot beside me."

Bellatrix's eyes warmed a little then, and her fingers tightened on his black linen shirt. Her voice was soft and far gentler than before as she noted, "You woke up without me - without anyone - for a great many years."

"Well, I don't care for it," he told her again. "I have no intention of making a habit of it. I want you home, Bella. But first…"

He flicked his wand over his shoulder and murmured, " _Colloportus._ " The door clicked as it shut, and Voldemort tucked his wand away. He pushed Bellatrix by her shoulders into the sterile guest bedroom, with its dove grey walls and hotel-style white bedding. He started to pull on her nightgown, wrenching and yanking it up and over her head. Her eyes flashed, and as he tossed the nightgown aside, realising she wore no knickers, he felt himself start to go hard in his trousers. He kissed her again, his tongue lathing the roof of her mouth. He drew her bottom lip between his teeth, and he barely registered the way that her hands were unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it away. It, along with his robe, fell to the ground, and Bellatrix's hands moved to his trousers.

"Keep me human, Bella," he murmured against her mouth. Bellatrix's fingers froze, and she stared up at him with her wide dark eyes.

"How am I meant to do that… My Lord?" she asked, and he gulped.

"Tom," he told her firmly. "To you, and especially tonight, I am Tom."

He dragged his fingers around her Dark Mark, making her shiver as her mouth fell open. He let her wrench his trousers and underwear down, and once he'd kicked them away, he brought her Mark to his lips.

"Tom…" she whispered, sounding the slightest bit unhinged. He slid one hand into her knickers, past the soft thatch of hair to the silky folds beneath. His fingertips glided smoothly, and she grew more wet by the second. She twitched around his fingers when he kissed her Dark Mark again. Somehow she had the presence of mind to find his cock and stroke it, her fingers spreading the dew of his want down his shaft.

"Take your knickers off and come here," Voldemort whispered, releasing her arm and pulling his hand from her. He moved to the bed and situated himself carefully upon it, folding his legs as he sat and waited. Bellatrix scrambled to rid herself of her knickers and join him, her eyes blazing as she put a knee on either side of his hips and snaked her arms around his shoulders. Voldemort put his hands on her waist and pulled her down onto him, hissing as her body enveloped his length with slick warmth. She squirmed a little and got off her knees, moving her legs until her ankles were crossed behind Voldemort's back.

The only motion she could make now was to rock against him. There was barely any withdrawal and no dramatic pummeling, but it felt perfect just the same. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and hummed against him, grinding slowly on him as his hands pressed flat against her back. He shut his eyes as she moved, drinking in the delicious aroma of her body, the way her breasts were smashed against his chest, the way her breath puffed onto his neck.

He swallowed hard, realising suddenly that this was it. This was being human. Wanting someone so very badly, _needing_ them, adoring them. It was all impossible without humanity. And for some reason, it was important that Lord Voldemort remain human. Bellatrix was his tether. She made him whole. She made him more powerful. She made him think clearer, made him second-guess his impulsivity and reinforced his authority. She was the piece that had been missing from his broken soul for a long time now. And so it was with very little hesitation that he whispered,

"I care very deeply for you, Bella."

She pulled her head back, her hips stilling for a moment as she replied, "You know I love you."

"I do know it," he nodded. He brushed under her eye with his thumb and studied her pretty face for a moment before tipping back. Bellatrix adjusted herself with him, going back onto her knees and pressing her hands to his chest as he put his head on the too-many pillows. She moved more urgently then, her hips grinding down and forward and then pulling up and back. Voldemort kept his eyes locked on hers, his fingers trailing from her knees to her hips and back again.

"I love you, Tom," she said again, sounding quite sure of herself. Her hands went to the mattress on either side of his shoulders, and she kept her hips pumping as she bent down to kiss him. Voldemort grunted as everything grew tense and taut and warm. His hand grasped her forearm, his magic searing into her Dark Mark, and she moaned into their kiss as her pleasure exploded. That nearly set Voldemort off, and he found himself yanking her down by her waist when her climax rendered her helpless. He kept on kissing her through his own orgasm, his veins coursing with delight as he filled her with his seed.

 _Stay human_ , he heard in his head, and as Bellatrix curled up beside him, he felt more human than he'd felt in his entire life. Something else screamed at him, more insistently than usual. _Tell her, you fool. Tell her how you know you feel. Tell her now._

He licked his dry bottom lip, very unsure of whether he was about to lie. After all, he had never felt the things normal people did. Regret, shame… there were emotions so foreign to him that they might as well have been otherworldly. There were things he simply could not do or say or feel, because his inhuman soul wouldn't let him. But he had Bellatrix flush against him, and he did feel human now. He was human now. So he cleared his throat gently and tried to say the most dangerous, most terrifying words he'd ever spoken.

"Bellatrix… I…"

She raised her eyes to him, seeming concerned. She stroked at his scruffy cheek - his flawed, wrinkled, scratchy human cheek - and she murmured, "Yes, My Lord?"

He blinked, his lips shaking as his mind shrieked at him to tell her. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and failed. Finally, he managed to croak out,

"I'm going back to Blaize Bailey tonight. You were very right in scolding Lucius for his treatment of your sister. I shall reinforce that with an owl in the morning. Tomorrow night, I want you in my bed at home."

Bellatrix nodded, the corners of her lips turning up. "Of course, My Lord."

"Get some sleep, Bella," he said, kissing her forehead as he pulled himself out of the bed. He yanked on his trousers and his shirt, then his diaphanous robe. As he slipped on his shoes, Bellatrix tucked herself beneath the stark white blankets. He leaned over to kiss her lips, a fleeting but significant kiss. He stroked at her jaw, furious with himself for not being able to tell her what he was now relatively certain he knew.

"Goodnight, My Lord," she whispered, her breath warm and sweet on his lips. He nodded.

"Goodnight, Bella."

* * *

 _October 1973_

 _Malfoy Manor_

"My Lord, I would not have troubled you with this if it weren't… well. Perhaps it would be best if I simply let you look over the materials yourself."

Bellatrix frowned as Augustus Rookwood slid an elaborately carved wooden box across the desk in the office at Malfoy Manor where the Dark Lord worked sometimes. She turned to Voldemort and asked,

"Shall I go, My Lord?"

"No." He did wave his hand before him, though, and he said, "Rookwood, you may go wait elsewhere. I'll summon you if necessary."

"Of course, My Lord." Rookwood bowed deeply and then nodded politely to Bellatrix. He walked out of the office, shutting the door carefully behind him. Bellatrix studied the box on the desk and said,

"So this was delivered to the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes. I looked into Rookwood's mind; he isn't lying," Voldemort affirmed. He dragged his fingers over the carved lid of the box. "It was addressed to the Dark Lord. They examined it for curses. I feel none. Let's open it, shall we?"

He glanced up to Bellatrix, who chewed her lip and nodded. Voldemort opened the box, his brows furrowing with confusion when the only thing inside was a scroll of parchment. He pulled the scroll out of the box and studied the black wax seal upon it. He broke the seal with his finger and unfurled the scroll, reading in silence for what felt like an interminable length of time. At long last, he gulped hard and wordlessly passed the scroll to Bellatrix. Her fingers trembled a bit as she took the parchment, and she began to read with worried eyes.

 _To My Most Beloved Master,_

 _You asked me to keep you human, and that is what I am attempting here to do._

 _In 1980, you will receive a prophecy, delivered to you by your young spy Severus Snape. The prophecy will concern a boy you determine (correctly) to be Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter. You will spend the next year searching for the boy. He is in Godric's Hollow. You will require the mind of Peter Pettigrew, the parents' Secret Keeper, to track the boy down._

 _In an attempt to kill the boy (who, according to the prophecy, posed a grave threat to you and your power), you will take out his parents. Your Killing Curse will rebound and destroy you. I know little more than that._

 _I dwell now without you, in November of the year 1981. You are gone, Master, and I've no idea what's become of you. My Lord, I write to beseech you to take careful steps with this prophecy and the boy it concerns. You asked me to keep you human, and for years I have done my best to obey you. Now that I have lost you, the only way I can think to follow your orders is to send you this letter. Gnavigo Charms, as it happens, are not just ancient and unreliable. They are essential. There was Paris. There was Venice and Vienna. There was Blaize Bailey. And now, I hope, there is this._

 _I send this with all the admiration and love I possess in my own wicked soul. Keep yourself human, Tom._

 _Bella_

Bellatrix set the scroll down in the box and leaned heavily on the table. Her mind whirled and she thought she might faint or be sick. She blinked through the tears that had boiled up in her eyes and whispered,

"Something awful happens to you."

"It would seem as though future you is trying very hard to prevent that," Voldemort noted. He took Bellatrix's jaw gently in one hand and turned her face to his. He squared his jaw and said softly, "You have always been very best lieutenant. Loyal beyond measure. Capable and unafraid. Adoring. Beautiful. _Mine_ in every single way. And if you've really just saved me from some kind of terrible destruction, then I owe you more than simple thanks. I owe you what you've earned. Your payment from me for years of bravery, for these months of ecstasy."

He kissed her, his lips just touching hers at first as she braced herself on his arms and let out a little sound of need. He deepened the kiss, finally pulling away as he whispered,

"I'll kill that Potter boy as soon as I can. I won't vanish from you or from my power. I will have everything, and I'll have it forever."

"Yes, My Lord," Bellatrix nodded. He kissed her again, this time so ferociously that it hurt. He suckled her lip and squeezed her face, and Bellatrix couldn't find air for a moment. She gripped his arms desperately until he yanked himself away. He turned toward the window, dragging the back of his wrist over his mouth as he stared out the window at the autumn foliage in the gardens. He surprised Bellatrix by tipping his forehead against the glass and shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He was barely audible when he spoke, but Bellatrix heard him clearly enough to nearly collapse with shock.

"I love you, Bellatrix."

She said nothing, leaning onto the desk again with one hand as her breath shook between her teeth. Lord Voldemort stared out the window and shrugged.

"Perhaps I don't. Who can say? I have no idea whether I'm even capable of such a thing. But it's the best word I've got for whatever you are to me."

"If that is the word you've got, My Lord, I gladly accept it," Bellatrix informed him. His eyes shut and he murmured,

"You'll marry Rodolphus Lestrange, but only because the Dark Lord can not have a wife. He will be well aware that the arrangement is in name only; you'll live with me at Blaize Bailey and you will be mine in perpetuity. Am I understood?"

Bellatrix's chest was about to burst with overwhelming glee. She nodded where she stood and said confidently,

"Yes, My Lord. I understand."

"Come here," he whispered, and she did. She walked over to him on wobbly legs, her arm tingling when he took it in his hands. He stood back from the window and pushed her sleeve up from her left wrist. He touched his lips to her Dark Mark, sending a shiver up her spine. He stared at the Mark, then at her eyes, and he asked her,

"Do you remember when I told you that time was a river? A flowing, crooked churn of water? Do you remember?"

She nodded. "Of course I remember, Tom."

His dark eyes flashed, and he told her, "Rivers have waterfalls. Rapids. Hazards. But people have boats, and you are mine. You have already kept me from disintegrating; it seems you'll rescue me more than once. For that, I am grateful, and for that I shall continue to adore you. It doesn't matter what it's called. It matter what it is. What… you are."

He wasn't making much sense, but Bellatrix could tell he was simply trying to put his powerful thoughts into speech. Words, she knew, were a feeble substitute for genuine emotion, even the stilted emotion experienced by the Dark Lord himself. When he kissed her again, though, she could feel it all flowing straight into her. She could feel his affection and his power. She could feel all they'd experienced together and all that would come next. She was his, and he was hers, in a way that he could never be anyone else's. Time had been their ally so far; it would be their ally going forward. There would be rapids and sticks in the silver splintered river, but she would be his boat. She would keep him human.

 _THE END._


End file.
